


Her Artemis

by Tieflingfemme



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Actually giving the Church of Seiros some beliefs, Angst with a Happy Ending, Butch/Femme, During Timeskip (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), F/F, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Black Eagles Route, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Gender Exploration, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Internalized Homophobia, Light Worldbuilding, Nonbinary Character, Plus a bunch of backstory for Leonie and Marianne, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Religious Guilt, Slow Burn, Suicidal Ideation, because Marianne, past trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:35:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 27,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27660761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tieflingfemme/pseuds/Tieflingfemme
Summary: A Huntress and a Repentant. Two girls stumbling into one another, again and again. Both sides of the Arrow, thinking themselves monsters.The story of Leonie and Marianne, from the academy to the war, and how they heal.
Relationships: Marianne von Edmund/Leonie Pinelli, Mercedes von Martritz/My Unit | Byleth, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 22





	1. Falter Forward

Garreg Mach Monastery was a place of ritual in so many senses of the word. It was a place of innumerable routines, running like so many clockwork mechanisms adjacent to one another. 

The nuns and monks attended to the rites of the Cathedral, the students of the Academy fluttered between classes, chores, and their assorted social groupings. The knights marched in guard formations or drilled in preparation for battles ahead, with their squires always at their heels, as yet unplaced gears in the machine of the Monastery. 

On an ordinary day this would be overwhelming to Marianne. She’d try and keep her distance from the crowds and sequester herself as best she could from her classmates, but the schedules and their whims would so often defy her. There was always some chore, some training routine, or some act of pity that shoved her together with them.

Those were ordinary days though, today was Saint Cethleann’s day. A day where the bustle of the academy grew into a pitched fervor of drama and gossip. It was the kind of day her classmates lived for, the epitome of academy life. It was the kind of day where she could hear her adoptive father’s words echoing in her skull. His insistence on her finding some noble’s son to wed, despite the burden of her blood, and the unforgivable crime that would be passing such a thing on. 

It was a day of keeping her head down and fumbling through the mornings service, nearly dropping her prayer beads more than once as her tongue seemed to trip over every word. She silently made a promise to Saint Cethleann to recite properly later as the sermon finally ended, and she practically fled the Cathedral. 

Students flooded the courtyard, and it wall all Marianne could do not to be caught in the throng, dreading some accidental touch of some poor soul unlucky enough to brush past her.

Thankfully, the crowd thinned as she made her way to her destination, far from the spots students tended to frequent, she made her way to the stables. 

She rounded the corner, and for a moment the tension loosened in her shoulders. The cacophony of students quieted as they went about their day, safely away from her. Then all there was to do was to commence her favorite ritual: tending to the horses. Particularly, Dorte, a grey brionac stallion that had quickly become her favorite. 

He wasn’t hers, per se. He was one of many young steeds set aside for the students to learn equestrianism. He wasn’t necessarily the strongest or the fastest either, and many would have turned their nose at him in favor of a steed of higher breeding, but Marianna found herself drawn in by that simplicity. She’d always loved animals, and loved horses especially, but Dorte in particular just seemed receptive.

Often she’d go to the stables simply to talk to him, to tell him the latest gossip as she might a classmate. That day she might have told him of the lovely garlands and the dreadful men. Of Hilda receiving a garland from six separate men and wearing them proudly around the monastery. Of the intricate lavender garland left on the desk of the new Black Eagles’ professor, and the speculations on who could have put in there. 

She wasn’t alone, though. As she entered the stable itself she caught sight of another student working away inside. She barely glimpsed a boy's uniform and a shock of ginger hair before she scrambled to the other side of the stable entrance, silently praying whoever was there hadn’t noticed. It would be such a terrible day to expose someone to her curse. 

For a moment she simply kept still, despite every instinct to run before whoever was inside came out and chased her off. Still, a question lingered in her, she could swear she recognized the student, but the only boy with ginger hair she knew of was Ferdinand, and his well kept visage was not the one she’d seen. Slowly, curiosity overtook caution, leading her to gingerly peak inside. 

It was hard to make out much detail in the dim light, but once recognition finally came to Marianne, she had to suppress a gasp. Standing in the isle of the stables, working away at her chores, was Leonie Pinelli, a girl from her own class. Her cropped hair and tomboyish gait mistaking her for a man at first, in addition to her unorthodox uniform. 

She’d done away with her usual skirt and was clad instead in the men’s trousers, wearing her jacket unbuttoned over her undershirt with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. This wasn’t against the rules _per se,_ almost all the students made additions or modifications to their clothes. Each with a touch that toed some sort of line. But a girl donning the boy’s uniform, a commoner no less, it was simply unheard of. 

Still, Marianne could only think that Leonie looked perfectly natural in it, even though the shirt looked a size or two too large and the trousers were a bit too long, it seemed to fit the girls constant state of roguish dishevelment. 

Then Leonie stretched her arms with her hands behind her neck. The traces of sweat on her arms and neck, shining like little stars caught in her skin as the scant trickles of light struck them. 

The sight stirred something odd in Marianne’s gut. Something that curled in her stomach like fear, but warmed her like wine. 

Whatever it was, it couldn’t be good. It must be her crest activating in some strange way, the goddess instilling some judgement for her gawking. It was overwhelming, now flowing through her chest and her cheeks, so she tore herself away and placed a hand over her mouth to stifle her suddenly frantic breathing.

From her hiding spot, she heard Leonie walk closer, first to another horse that had to be assigned to her, based on the familiarity with which she addressed it. 

“Hey there Surrey.” She said, her voice sounding slightly fatigued. “Sorry I’m late, it’s been a hell of a day.” 

Marianne couldn’t make out the next words, something grumbled about nobles and men, but it was spoken under her breath and drowned out by the light scrape of the horse brush. Then came a satisfied hum, and her footsteps came closer, right up to Dorte’s stall near the entrance. 

“Hi Dorte. How’s Marianne’s favorite doing?” Leonie said. 

Marianne bit down on her hand, anything to keep herself still and quite. She should just walk away, this was a quiet moment for Leonie, nothing she needed to intrude upon. Certainly nothing she needed to inflict her misfortunes on. Still, curiosity seldom obeyed propriety, and her treacherous ears listened close anyways. 

“You’re lucky you know,” Leonie’s voice was low, warm with a gentleness Marianne hadn’t heard from her. “She’s a hard girl to please. You might be the only one in the monastery she likes. Except maybe Hilda, but _everyone_ likes Hilda.” 

Marianne had half a mind to leap out and protest. She liked plenty of her classmates, and a few of the professors too. Were it not for her _circumstances_ she’d happily place herself in their company. Discounting of course her complete inability to talk to other people and her insufferably hollow personality, tainted blood or not. Perhaps she was lucky, in a sense, that she had to stay away anyway. 

Nevertheless she allowed the thought to float through her mind, of walking in and just talking properly to Leonie. Not stumbling over every word. Not fearing what her crest would do. Just talking about… something, anything. 

Slowly, those fantasies turned. There’d be some accident, some horrible stroke of luck she’d inflict and as quickly as she’d settle any semblance of comfort would be torn apart. She needed to leave, and she needed to leave now. 

She set one cautious step after another, trying to keep quiet, but grace was not her strong suit. She tripped over a tool left laying by the stable entrance and stumbled to the ground, inadvertently crying out as the ground rushed up and met her in a cloud of dust. 

A startled grunt came from inside the stables, followed by footsteps, and suddenly there was a hand under her arm yanking her to her feet, and eye to eye with Leonie Pinelli. 

“You alright?” Leonie asked, concern written all over her persimmon eyes. 

Marianne opened her mouth and tried to make some sort of words come out, but all that left her lips was a faint squeak. She looked down, unable to take a single second of eye contact more, and found herself staring at Leonie’s hands, one on her shoulder and the other holding her wrist. They were calloused, as to be expected from an archer, and still bore flecks of dust from her work. They were also warm, and firm as they held her, even as her grip was gentle. 

Then Leonie followed her gaze and quickly removed them, taking a step back. “Sorry, didn’t mean to…” She trailed off, her eyes thankfully off Marianne. 

There was a pause as both students struggled to break the increasingly unpleasant silence, and unsurprisingly Leonie found her voice first. 

“Sorry if I was hogging the stables, didn’t know there was more than one person assigned today.” 

Marianne fought the urge to retreat further. She found herself biting her lip and holding her wrist with a white knuckle grip, as if that would somehow keep the effects of her crest inside. 

“I wasn't.” She said, her voice trembling from its usual lack of use, “I just… wanted to see the horses.” 

“Oh.” Leonie sighed, her cheeks slightly pink. “Well, I just wanted to check on Surrey anyway so… I’ll get out of your hair.” 

Leonie turned and stepped away, a hand rubbing the back of her neck. Immediately Marianne’s fear of her crest was contested by a cold pang of guilt. Curse or no curse, she had no right to force people out of spaces she occupied, if anything she should be the one to go. 

“No!” She called out, and Leonie paused, craned her head around, a look of confusion on her face. Marianne shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot under that look, but forced her voice out regardless. 

“You… You don’t have to leave, if you don’t want to.” 

Leonie cocked her head to the side, with a faint tug at the corner of her lip. “It’s alright, I don’t wanna impose or anything. This is kinda your space after all.” 

“It’s not  _ just  _ mine.” Marianne said. “And I should probably be leaving anyway.” 

“Nah, I’ve got other stuff I’ve gotta get to.” Leonie said, a lopsided grin on her face. “You let me know if you need anything, though.” 

And with that, she turned and marched away, leaving Marianne’s protestations stuck in her throat. 

The same strange warmth held her still, only able to watch as Leonie rounded the corner, before it churned and mixed with the cold shame of embarrassment. 

She looked to Dorte, as if he could offer some comment to relieve her discomfort, but he only gave her the same unaffected expression as always. 

Leonie was odd. Kind but intense in a way she hadn’t ever seen before. That and the way she dressed, the way she carried herself… 

Marianne didn’t know what to make of it, nor of the feeling in her gut. It was all too confusing, too chaotic, too  _ Garreg March.  _

It was all she could do, as she carried out the rest of her self-assigned chores, to keep her mind off of it, off of the way the light hit her classmate, like it shined down from the heavens only for that purpose. Only to frame her. 

She had to stay away from Leonie, she decided. These thoughts, this feeling, none of it could mean anything good.


	2. Hesitate (C)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hilda flirts. Leonie tries. Marianne retreats.

There were few places Leonie felt more at home in Garreg Mach than the archery range. The training grounds were a close second, but the crowds it sometimes drew and the boasting nobles that often populated it soured too many an afternoon exercise for her to consider it a place of calm. 

The range, on the other hand, drew no such crowds. Partially because the archers of the academy trended more in the direction of demure than pompous. Even Claude, with all his penchant for mischief, calmed down at the range. The other part however, was the frequent oversight of Shamir, who would be quick to shut down any antics typical of the training grounds, often with no more than a cold glare. 

This lent a tranquility to the range not unlike that on the greenhouse or the cathedral, at least for Leonie. In those places she’d almost immediately grow uneasy, uncomfortable with the enforced stillness in the cathedral and the empty quiet of the greenhouse. She grew fidgety in inaction, eager to occupy her hands with something, anything, and more often than not that got her into trouble.

With a bow in her hands and a target in sight, though, nothing could break her focus. Especially on a day like that, where the range was empty and silent save for the whistling of arrows through the air and the satisfying  _ thunk  _ as they plunged into their marks. 

On a day like that, everything else faded into the background. The rest of the range disappeared, and she could imagine herself in the woods near her village, stalking an unknowing buck with enough meat to last weeks. 

She was no longer a student, with a firm grip on the bow and the tug of the string under her fingers, she felt like a proper hunter. She felt  _ alive.  _

She’d knock an arrow and draw it back only to hold it for a moment, relishing the tension before firing, pulling the wrist of her bow hand ever so slightly to the side as it flew. 

Rinse and repeat. An arrow plucked from the quiver, knocked, and fired. It was better than meditation or prayer, a ritual all her own. 

Which is why she nearly turned her bow on Hilda when she heard her call out to her from across the range.

“Leonie!” That singsong voice said, followed by a flurry of pink pigtails and a grin that always seemed a little too conniving. 

Leonie sighed and set her bow down on the table beside her and folded her arms over her chest. “What do you want Hilda?” 

Hilda frowned and set her hands on her hips in faux offense. “Well there’s no need for that tone, maybe I just came over to praise that great form of yours.” 

“I highly doubt that.” Leonie said, and Hilda put on a full pout in response. Had she not known better she would have found it cute, but she’d fallen for it before and she wasn’t keen on doing all of Hilda’s chores again.

“Can’t a girl just give her classmate a compliment?” She stepped forward and poked a finger at Leonie’s bicep. “Plenty to commend here Miss Muscles.”

Leonie shut her eyes and grit her teeth. “I’m not buying it Hilda.” 

Hilda stayed close for a moment longer, almost leaning in to her, her hands behind her back and a devious look in her eyes. Then she moved back with an exaggerated huff. 

“Alright fine. There’s a few things from the market that I-”

“Absolutely not-” 

“ _ And  _ Dorothea, Mercedes, and Annette need.” Hilda batted her eyelashes at her. “You wouldn’t wanna refuse all of us would you?” 

She wasn’t going to do this. She wasn’t going to run errands for some lazy little shit just because she was pretty. She wasn’t. 

“Fine.”  _ Fuck!  _ “You got a list or something?” 

Hilda smiled bright and moved in close, closer than before. For a moment Leonie thought she might kiss her and almost flinched back, but Hilda only leaned up to where their cheeks almost brushed. She spoke, and Leonie had to suppress an involuntary shiver as she felt her breath against her ear. “So gallant of you.” 

Then as soon as she had pressed herself close, Hilda shoved a scrap of parchment into Leonie’s hand, whirled around and walked back out of the range, a spring in her step. Just as Leonie felt she could breathe again however, she called out over her shoulder. 

“Oh, and by the way, you should bring Marianne along with you. It’d do her some good.” 

And with that, she marched out of the archery range, leaving a thoroughly flustered Leonie trying to force the blush out of her face. 

***

As Leonie made her way to the stables, where Marianne almost certainly was, she eyed the list she’d been given, realizing that Hilda’s request was likely more for Leonie’s benefit than Marianne’s. Nearly every item on the list was incomprehensible to Leonie. She hadn’t a clue where to find rouge or kohl, let alone the elaborate soaps and perfumes with more specific annotations.

Hopefully Marianne could play translator for at least some of it. She was after all, just as feminine as Dorothea or Mercedes, albeit in her own quiet way. 

She wasn’t sure if she could call her a friend, it was so hard to tell with her. For one she was a noble, and navigating the differences between eloquent diplomacy and genuine speech had never been a strong suit of Leonie’s. She considered herself quite lucky that most of her house was so expressive that they weren’t too tricky to read. Save for Claude, but no one could get a read on Claude. 

Marianne, though, was even more of an enigma. She wasn’t unemotive per se, but the emotions that did show were almost always overshadowed by anxiety. She wasn’t quite so flighty as Bernadetta, but it made it difficult to determine the difference between her general nervousness and specific dislike or discomfort. 

All in all it meant Leonie often left her alone. They had been assigned together on stable duty a few times since their last run in, and she’d even healed a few of her scrapes once or twice, but outside of that she decided it safer not to bother her. Though that was almost certainly why Hilda was sending her to find Marianne in the first place. 

_ Speaking of which.  _ Leonie rounded the corner leading to the stables, and immediately caught sight of the shock of blue hair leaning next to a horse she presumed was Dorte, whispering something she couldn’t hear. 

Leonie pocketed the parchment and ran a hand through her hair, as if that would make it any less of a mess.

“Hey Marianne!” Leonie called out, though she immediately cursed herself at how the sudden sound made Marianne flinch. “What’re you up to?”

Marianne recovered herself, but turned her eyes back to Dorte almost as soon as she’d laid them on Leonie. “Nothing.” Was all she said in response. 

“Just visiting your favorite guy, huh?” 

Marianne nodded, her head bowed. Leonie stepped past her to Dorte’s side and gave him a quick pet on the shoulder before turning back to her classmate.

“By the way, are you free today?” She said, and tried to keep the same tone of confident nonchalance. 

“Is there something you need?” Marianne turned to address her, despite still not looking at her. 

“Yeah, Hilda has me running errands again.” Leonie dug the parchment from her pocket and displayed it. “She and some of the others jotted down some really specific stuff that I thought you might be able to help with.” 

“Oh, well I’m not sure I could-” 

“Sure you can! You’re- um,” Leonie almost bit her tongue off then and there. Why on earth was talking to someone so demure so difficult? “I mean, you have loads of cute stuff, so you definitely have an eye for it.” 

Marianne still looked uncertain, so Leonie pressed on. 

“I’d give you all the credit for that of course. Seiros knows I couldn’t find  _ kohl  _ if I scoured the whole market.” 

Marianne shook her head and started toying with a loose strand of her hair .“I really don’t deserve that kind of praise.” 

“I don’t think that’s true at all!” Leonie said, throwing even more enthusiasm into her voice, as if some of it might spread to Marianne. “Plus you’d be doing me a big favor.” 

“I don’t know. My adoptive father said I shouldn’t wander too far from the monastery.” 

Leonie balked at that. “What? That’s nonsense, everybody needs some fresh air every now and then.” 

Then, feeling cocky, she added, “Besides, I’m a strong gal, I can take on any dodgy sort that might come our way.” 

Marianne shook her head again. She seemed less and less her usual withdrawn self and increasingly distracted by something.

“I should stay. I wouldn’t be any help, and no one would like anything I picked out. It would all go to waste.” She raised her head, her dark grey eyes suddenly fixed on Leonie’s. There was something akin to fear in them, and in her now shaking voice. “And I would just bring you misfortune. I need to stay here, by myself.” 

Leonie opened her mouth and closed it again. What was there to say to that? Her previous confidence deflated, and her next words floundered. 

“Bring me misfortune?” Leonie scoffed. “What kind of backwards talk is that?”

She racked her brain for what that could even mean. Was this a noble thing? A lady shouldn't be seen in the company of a commoner in the market?

Then it clicked. Not just a commoner. A commoner like her. A commoner girl with sheared hair and boy’s clothes. The kind no noble lady should be seen with.

Anger flared into her gut and weaved through her ribs. Embarrassment and shame joined it soon after, and Leonie dug her nails into her palms to distract from its horrible churning heat. 

This was a setup, it had to be. Throw the tomboy at the most scared girl in class and watch the fireworks.  _ Goddess  _ how could she be so stupid!

Finally, she found her words, though she could scarcely keep the edge out of them. “Fine, whatever.” 

“Leonie-”

“You know Marianne. I really prefer it when people who don’t want me around just tell me.” She huffed. “I’m sorry for the unwanted invitation. Don’t worry, it  _ won’t  _ happen again.” 

Then, she turned on her heel and marched away from the stables. She faintly heard a voice call out from behind her, but paid it no mind. She paid nothing any mind as she stormed across the monastery, not the other students, not the professors, and certainly not the prickling in her eyes. 

She didn’t care to see the stares that followed her. If they didn’t think her an angry, mannish brute before, they certainly would now. 

_ Cold eyes, painted a wide assortment of judgement. Disgust, anger, disappointment, and pity. The entire village, all gawking at her. All she could do was pretend not to notice as they picked her apart, from her hair to her clothes to the bruises all up and down her skin… _

Only once she was safely in the training grounds did she allow herself a focus. There, she concentrated only on the lance in her hands and the feeling of stabbing and slashing at the target, relishing the burning in her arms and the straw sent flying. 

***

Marianne fled the stables almost as soon as Leonie was out of view. She shouldn’t be hurt, or shocked even, at her reaction. She wasn’t the first to be turned around with the explanations she knew sounded bizarre, and she wasn’t the first to react in anger. The wounded look in her eyes was different though, and it confused her just as much as it stung. 

Not that it mattered. If Leonie hated her, that was just as well. It was better that way. 

That was what she told herself as she bolted up the stairs to the noble dormitory. It was what she practically shouted at herself as she threw her door open and quickly shut it behind herself. 

It didn’t stop her from slumping against it, pressing her face to her knees, and letting loose her tears. 

She was doing what she was supposed to. This was just another test from the Goddess. A temptation to remind her of her curse, of what would happen if she got careless. 

_ Blood turned maroon and caked into the carpet, the curtains, the sheets. The stench of sweat and iron, the sight of flesh mangled far past what life could hold onto. The sweeping marks of claws, like the strokes of a painters brush on the canvas of sinew and viscera.  _

Marianne clamped a hand over her mouth to suppress a sob, the other grasped the hem of her skirt like a lifeline. Anything to hold onto until those horrid images finally passed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leonie and Marianne have attained support level C! Boy do they need therapy!


	3. Seethe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mistakes and Conversations.

Leonie lingered in the training grounds much longer than she probably should have. After they had emptied out in a flood of knights and students as soon as the dinner bells rang. After gambesons were shrugged off in haste and training weapons were shoved into scabbards and onto racks with all the care of toddlers tossing away toys. 

After silence fell like the scattered dust, spreading to every corner. 

It was then that Leonie took the opportunity to prowl the whole of the grounds. Lance in hand, she eyed the regular targets, but passed them on for those axe and rapier users trained with. Those were clad in scraps of unused iron and slag metal, meant to train the dexterous and the powerful in the art of sundering armored foes.

To Leonie, who had long since shredded both the whole set of lance targets and a set of spares, they seemed the only thing that could properly take her bitter strikes. Their crude simulacrums of faces gave dead-eyed stares as she skulked past, and she felt the itch to run her lance through them grow ever stronger. 

A bitter white anger still thrummed in her, though now alloyed with a volatile mix of guilt and shame. She’d let her temper loose, and she was in no state to wrangle it back. She could only stew in regret over letting someone see it, even worse have it directed at them. 

Why did it have to be Marianne? Kind, quiet, terribly shy Marianne? Who must’ve been as set up as she was. It’s not like she was even angry with her in the first place, not really. 

It always snowballed from irritation to rage, and into themselves after that. She would be angered by something, angered by her own anger, and then, guilty and embarrassed, thrown into fury at herself most of all. 

That always led her back here, into the training grounds, weapon in hand. The only place for someone like her. A girl not meant to be with the others, brutish and bullheaded, the object of gossip and ridicule. Something to be feared. 

Each thought, each accusation to herself punctuated a strike of the lance, a thrust between the crude plates of the target. Again and again, even as the sun dimmed above and her limbs grew sore and protested. 

Her forms were growing sloppier, and she could almost hear Captain Jeralt beside her, criticizing her increasing clumsiness. 

_ Fix your stance, make that arc narrower, raise that up to shoulder level you’re limiting your reach.  _

“I’m fucking trying.” She growled to herself. 

Then, as she made to strike under the target's nose guard, she heard a sound behind her. Her grip slipped, her arms swung far too fast, and the spear’s tip slammed into the side of the makeshift helmet. In a split second she felt the force of the blow travel down the length of the lance, through her arms, and into her shoulder, right as the shaft between her hands shattered, digging splinters into her palms and wrists. 

“Fuck!” She cried out, dropping the ruined weapon. 

She turned toward the offending sound, expecting some squire or classmate, but instead groaned at the sight of Byleth Eisner, now running her way. Something alike to concern sparked in her wide blue eyes even as her expression remained unchanged.

In a breath, she was by Leonie’s side, grabbing at her arms to examine them, even as Leonie tried to take them from her surprisingly strong grasp. She looked them over for a minute, before looking up and speaking in a voice as unexpressive as her face. 

“Follow me.” She said, and then turned and began walking toward the entrance to the grounds. 

For a moment Leonie stayed put, tempted to yell back some obscenity laden protest at the professor. However, between the options of stewing in her own impotent indignation, now with mildly lacerated arms, or swallowing her pride and getting healed, the latter choice prevailed. 

So she trudged behind the professor, trying her best not to appear like an idiot who injured herself out of sheer stupid rage. Thankfully the crowds of the monastery had dwindled almost to nothing as the sun set. Those that remained did so in groups huddled together, and a few couples, focused solely on one another and blissfully unaware of anything else besides. 

Or so Leonie hoped. She’d had enough of rumors surrounding her. She knew she was a lightning rod for such things, a girl who shears her hair off and dons men’s clothes always is, but the last thing she needed was confirmation of their worst assumptions. 

She breathed a sigh of relief then when they made it past it to the stairwell, and beyond it to the professorial offices. There they reached the infirmary and Byleth quickly peered inside before ushered Leonie in. It was empty, and bizarrely quiet without the presence of Professor Cassagranda busying herself about. 

Another thing to be thankful for though, she’d likely never hear the end of it if her own teacher was the one to receive her in such a state. At least she wouldn’t have to face the eagles’ professor in class the next morning. 

The teacher in question stepped out into the hall after a look to Leonie and a moment's hesitation. She overheard some quick, light footsteps, a handful of hushed words from what sounded like Cyril, and those same steps rushing down the hall and away. Then Byleth stepped back in the room, and regarded Leonie. 

“I’ve sent for a healer, don’t pick at those in the meantime.” Byleth said, gesturing to her arms. 

Leonie scoffed, but said nothing, gripping the fabric of her trousers tight to keep from itching at the scrapes. She looked down at them, at the walls, and then finally settled on Byleth herself, staring at her with her typically stony expression. 

She couldn’t tell if this was meant to chastise, this silent judgement. She couldn’t truly even tell if it was judgement, just silence and that  _ stare.  _ Infuriatingly opaque, like everything else about that woman. She seemed built to anger Leonie, everything she couldn’t understand and everything she couldn’t be all at once, now looking at her like a toddler with a skinned knee. 

The quiet between them continued, and Leonie was about to break it with some barb that’d undoubtedly be more trouble than it was worth, when Byleth spoke first. 

“What was that?” Her voice was mild, as always, with only a hint of genuine curiosity behind it.

Leonie bit her lip for a moment before responding, as if that might hold some of the venom her voice would hold back. It didn’t. 

“What was what?” She spat back, grateful to destroy that terrible lull, to fill it with anything else. No matter how caustic, noise felt better. 

Byleth considered her for a moment. “Your strikes are never that sloppy and your forms were entirely off balance. Why?” 

Leonie wanted to scream. Either Byleth really was that naive, or she was mocking her. 

“Because I was fucking angry, that’s why!” She yelled. Louder than she intended. Harsher than she meant. Immediately she closed her eyes, grit her teeth, and clutched the edge of the bed frame in a white knuckle grip, ignoring how that tension inflamed her wounds. 

She waited for Byleth to shout in turn, to scold her properly, maybe even strike her for her disrespect. She braced herself.

Then she heard the shuffling of a cloak, and then the creak in the bed as Byleth sat down next to her. Leonie dreaded opening her eyes, seeing the professor's expression twisted with rage, or worse, pity, but when she did it was the same different complexion altogether. Not expressive by the standard of anyone else, but something changed in her eyes. Something softened there almost imperceptibly, and it made her feel less irritated and far more… vulnerable. Like the professor was looking right through her, observing all of her at once, too much of her.

“Why?” Was all she said, her voice calm. It wasn’t soft, she doubted Byleth could muster up such a thing, but it hadn’t any edge she would have expected.

It wasn’t something she had any idea what to do with, and in that confusion she was tempted, as always, to run from it. To get up from the bed, run to her room and pick out the damn splinters herself. In equal measure, however, another part of her wanted to speak. To actually say the reason for her anger, no matter how stupid it was. Just so at least one person didn’t think she was just crazy. 

Unless of course, it just made Byleth think she was crazy. She dared again to glance at the professor's expression, and that notion was lost. Byleth might think a lot of things of her, but she wasn’t going to judge her. 

“I had a fight with Marianne.” her cheeks grew hot and stung as soon as the words spilled out. “Pretty sure she hates me now.”

Her voice almost shook, both with the ghost of her lingering temper and in fear looking so weak. 

There was a pause. Byleth looked down, tapped her foot for a moment, and spoke, “I don’t think that’s true.” 

“No, she definitely does.” Leonie scoffed. “Or she should. I wouldn’t blame her, I was a total ass to her.” 

Byleth’s expression changed from concern to confusion. “Then apologize. I can’t imagine Marianne holding a grudge.” 

“It’s not that simple.” Leonie clenched her hand into a fist, trying to keep her anger from returning. 

“I don’t get second chances. I’m not the kinda girl who can bat her eyelashes and make things go back to normal. I’m the kind of  _ thing  _ nobles hide their daughters from, so I don’t infect them with my- everything!”

Her voice raised, her temper flaring with each word until it petered out at her near admission.  _ That  _ Byleth couldn’t know, or at least Leonie couldn’t confirm. 

“We don’t get second chances.” She said, quieter this time. “Half the people at this place judge me the second they see me, and all I’ve done is prove them right.” 

Byleth said nothing, turning her attention back to the floor. Then she stood, crossed the room, and faced the doorway, her back to Leonie. 

Again, Leonie expected some form of scolding. She’d violated so many rules of propriety in the last few minutes, even a former mercenary had to draw the line somewhere. 

Then Byleth spoke again, her voice measured and calm, but with an odd air of melancholy to it. “You know my father's title, yes?” 

Leonie looked at her, puzzled. “Yeah? Of course I do, he’s  _ the  _ Blade Breaker.” 

Byleth sighed, a world weary sigh full of more emotion than she thought the woman capable of. “Did you know I have one too?” 

Leonie thought for a moment, trying to recall all the legends she’d heard of the Blade Breakers and their captain. They were fuzzy as it was, and she’d dismissed so many as outright lies, even as she’d still listened intently to their tellings. Nevertheless, she couldn’t remember hearing anything about his daughter, or that he even had one. 

“No, I didn’t.” She said. 

Byleth turned to her, her eyes probing hers for a moment. Leonie had to resist the urge to flinch under that gaze, it pierced her so. Still, she held it, trying to Pierce back, decipher something of the professor's enigma.

“The Ashen Demon.” She said, shoving each word of her tongue as if they were poisonous to her. “Bandits see a girl who doesn’t emote much, and they assume she doesn’t have a soul. Then word gets around.” 

“That’s cruel.” 

“It was.” Byleth shrugged. “But that’s what happens. You act how you must, and people make their judgements. Kind or cruel, we can’t help it.” 

She moved forward, until she was standing over Leonie, “So, girls like us, we need to hold on to who we can. And I don't think Marianne is the sort to judge, I think she's just afraid." 

"That's the problem!" Leone said, a near quiver rattling her tone. "I don't want her to be afraid of me! And if she is I'm not going to inflict myself on her!" 

Byleth lowered herself to Leonie’s eye level, “Are you a blade, Leonie?” 

“No?” She grumbled, what did that even mean?

“Then you aren’t inflicting anything.” Byleth said, and there was a tug at her lip again, “You are not a spear and I am not a demon. Apologize, see where it goes. Maybe you’ll be surprised.” 

Leonie sighed, moving to run a hand through her hair before wincing at how the motion tugged on the splinters. She spared them a glance, the little reminders of the idiotic episode that had gotten her here. 

“Alright.” She said, not looking up. 

“Alright?” Byleth echoed. 

“I’ll talk to her, or I’ll try at least. But if it goes south I’m blaming you.” 

Byleth stood and shrugged. “Feel free to.” 

Leonie was about to open her mouth and deliver some needlessly snarky retort, when they both heard rushed footsteps, followed by a flurry of blonde hair and rapidfire apologies entering the room. 

“I’m so sorry! Manuela and I were attending to the knights!” Mercedes said in between panting as she caught her breath. “Didn’t mean to keep you waiting!” 

Byleth stood back, her entire posture going from relaxed to ramrod straight. “Not a problem, no one’s dying here.” She said, an odd quality entering her voice. 

Mercedes looked to Leonie, who gingerly offered out her wounded arms. 

The healer hummed to herself, and gave Leonie a kind but pitying smile. “Training accident?” 

Leonie only nodded. Mercedes shook her head and tutted at her and got to work. Green light spilled out over Leonie’s wrists, and the sickly warm feeling of healing magic seeped into her. One by one the splinters were plucked out and the cuts left behind sealed. As soon as it was done, Mercedes stood and Leonie withdrew her arms to herself. 

“Alrighty then, now,” Mercedes looked to Leonie, an authoritative tone entering her voice, “We won’t be breaking any more training weapons will we? There are plenty of better ways to show your strength.” 

“Yeah, sorry.” Leonie replied, suddenly sheepish.

That made Mercedes smile, “Not to worry. It’s not as if you’re the only student to smash your way through the practice armory.” She patted Leonie’s cheek, bringing a flush to the younger woman's face. 

“Goddess knows Ingrid and Dimitri cause enough trouble. Something about ornery lance wielders I suppose.” She said with a wink. Then she turned to Byleth, taking a step closer to the professor as she did. “Will that be all?” 

Byleth hummed in affirmation, but her eyes darted anywhere where Mercedes’ weren’t. Suddenly, Leonie felt oddly intrusive, like she shouldn’t be witnessing this interaction. 

It took a moment for her to realize why, and when she did she had half a mind to point and cheer. Or at the very least to pull Byleth aside and demand to know everything. Of course she didn’t though, only followed behind the two with a barely suppressed smile.

As the three entered the hall, Leonie hung back. The other two women continued on, their focus only on each other, their hands nearly brushing as they walked side by side. Mercedes stumbled over a word every now and again, and Byleth seemed to struggle to get any out at all. Both bloomed red in their cheeks, beaming at the other.

It was the sort of display that would ordinarily drive Leonie to gag. In some way it was still almost sickly sweet, tea with a spoon or two too much sugar. But that discomfort was dwarfed by a far more powerful feeling she found difficult to name. 

Recognition, perhaps? A sense of being a little less other, a little less alien. To know that, at least in this, she might be a little less alone than she thought. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leonie: :(  
> Leonie, after seeing another gay: :)


	4. Balm and Bloom (B)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leonie plants something new.

Leonie had intended to follow through on Byleth’s advice. The previous day had left her with a precarious confidence. She had awoken the next day knowing exactly what she needed to do and how she ought to do it. Then she’d entered class, sat down, looked around the room, and saw no trace of Marianne. 

In an instant those fleeting scraps of assurance had fled her as surely as insects fleeing out from under a lifted stone. Throughout that day, she kept glancing at the empty chair where Marianne usually sat, as if somehow that glaring empty spot would right itself while she was distracted. Worse still, she could swear that Hilda was shooting her dirty looks out of the corner of her eye each time she looked over. 

The next few days fell into a cycle: she’d wake up determined, find that Marianne hadn’t shown up, and spend the afternoon in a haze of doubt. Then she’d wake up the next morning, a little less certain, with the roots of anxiety dug just a fraction deeper in her gut, twisting a fraction tighter each time.

Then came the day where Marianne actually did show her face. Leonie had looked around the class and felt the usual disappointment creep up on her as she found the same spot empty. Until, right before the lecture was to begin, Marianne rushed into the room and to her usual seat by Hilda. She kept her head down and looked as if she were trying to will herself to sink into the floor, but that in and of itself wasn’t unusual. 

The bags under her eyes seemed even darker than usual. Her elaborate braids, usually so pristinely woven together, were dotted with flyaway hairs poking out in every direction. Even her uniform looked more rumpled than it typically was. 

Altogether it left Leonie in the odd position of wanting to comfort her… acquaintance, but also noting that she might be the cause of her distress in the first place. This of course caused another debate in her mind. Was she inflating her sense of importance in Marianne’s life? Should she even presume to be able to cause that kind of impact? 

Maybe it was a wholly unrelated stressor, and her snapping at Marianne was as inconsequential as a biting gnat, and she would be laughed at for having the audacity to apologize, as if her actions meant anything in the first-!

She had to stop herself there. The thoughts were cyclical, recursive things. Snakes that hatched and immediately began gnawing away their own tails. 

The whole situation left her with simmering coils of anxiety wrapped around her gut for those first few days. She was tempted to purge these feelings in her usual martial fashion, but that indulgence was nipped in the bud. One trip to the training grounds only to find Byleth looking on in what she assumed was disappointment turning her from that pass time quickly enough. 

She’d promptly escorted Leonie from the grounds, thankfully with the younger woman less lascerated than before, and guided her back to her room. There she’d calmly but firmly suggested the greenhouse as a healthier alternative to taking out her frustrations, at least until she “proved more careful.” 

That had pissed her off. Because of course it had. To the point where she almost marched right back into the training grounds in sheer defiance the next day. She probably would have too, had a passing Mercedes asking about her arms not stopped her on the way. Her gentle demeanor and concerned eyes did more than a barricaded door to turn her to other outlets. 

With that she’d ended up right where she was told to go all along, begrudging her own obedience while pulling weeds in one of the larger vegetable plots of the greenhouse. Worst of all, the effort of it seemed to work. 

There was a satisfaction to ripping an offending plant from the dirt, and a rhythm to doing so consistently and carefully around the important plants. It had taken a quick crash course with the help of Dedue and Ash, and a few innocent sprouts torn out before their time, but after a day or two, Leonie truly felt she’d gotten the hang of it. 

On the third day since her incident, she hadn’t even felt the writhing mass of restless dread as she’d gone to class. She still felt a pang of guilt when regarding Marianne however. She promised herself to sort that out sooner rather than later, but the urge to follow her new routine still eclipsed her bravery. 

Almost as soon as Professor Cassagranda had stopped lecturing about the minutiae of early Leicester Cavalry tactics, a subject no one but Lorenz seemed to pay attention to, Leonie sprung from her seat and toward the courtyard. She then marched across it with a decidedly uncharacteristic amount of enthusiasm. 

By the time she’d made it to the greenhouse she’d nearly broken into a sprint. The rich scents of the building crashed against her, instantly bringing her heart rate down. It took more willpower than she cared to admit to abstain from simply shoving her face in the dirt and inhaling its earthen aroma. She practically dove into the vegetation, scarcely remembering to pull in a pail with her to collect the weeds. 

It’d be satisfying to say she tore at the unwanted plants, that she left her foes mangled, deterred from taking root again. However, Deduce had already chastised her for her roughness. Any root too resistant was simply met with a quick slash from her dagger. 

Even that motion stayed measured, as tossing filth everywhere would earn a stern look from Dedue, and accidentally hacking her own hand would garner her an even worse disappointed smile from Mercedes. 

Instead her motions were near meditative, and Leonie hardly noticed as the sky shifted from clear blue to the fiery begins of an orange sunset. Only when her second pail was full and she was absolutely spattered with earth did she even look through the glass to the empty docks outside. 

She stood up and swore under her breath. She must’ve missed the dinner bell, possibly dinner itself. Not that she minded the table scraps; by the standards she grew up with they were still a luxury. 

Getting completely engrossed in something for such a long time, however, irritated her. She needed to be more efficient next time. Bask less, and get more done. 

She wiped her dagger on the thigh of her trousers and sheathed it, taking a pail in each hand as she stepped out flowerbeds. A small squeak sounded from behind her as she stepped out of the brush and set the weeds on the table with the other gardening tools. 

She sighed and turned, an apology already on her tongue as she expected to find a startled Bernadetta, and instead saw Marianne standing on the threshold of the greenhouse. 

For a moment Leonie simply stared, silently cursing her own luck. Marianne herself stood stock still, her grey-brown eyes wide under the shade of her tousled bangs. 

Leonie expected her to turn tail and run, and couldn’t determine if Marianne’s continued presence was out of frozen fear or a genuine desire to stay and snap the sandpaper tension between them. 

If the latter was the case though, she probably couldn’t expect her to make the first move. This alone was more than she would have expected given their last encounter. 

“I, um-” Leonie sputtered, “I’ve got greenhouse duty handled.” 

Immediately she winced at her own clumsy words, but they at least seemed to shock Marianne from her petrified state. 

“Oh!” She said with a start. “I- I wasn’t…” 

Her voice trailed off as her gaze drifted to the side, her arm crossing over her chest as she did so. She took her bottom lip in between her teeth and seemed to be searching for the right words. Again, Leonie thought she ought to take the first step, she owed it to her.

“Look, Marianne.” She said, steeling herself. “You’ve been avoiding me since I snapped at you, haven’t you?” 

It was a statement as much as a question. One that answered in the affirmative by a slow, sheepish nod from Marianne. 

Leonie nodded in return. “Yeah, thought so. Don’t worry, I’m not mad.” 

That got her a puzzled look, “You’re not?” Marianne asked. 

“Nope. I mean-” Leonie sighed. “It’s deserved. You’re probably scared of me now, aren’t you?” 

Marianne looked away again and Leonie decided to take that as a “yes.” Still, she said nothing. Instead Leonie plowed forward.

“Yeah, right then I was… hurt, but I know you have good reasons for all that.” She placed her hands on her hips and dropped her gaze to her boots. “If you want me to leave you alone, I will.” 

Another moment of silence, so Leonie spoke again, not daring to look up. 

“I promise, you’ve got nothing to fear from me.” She shut her eyes, trying to stop the stinging in her nose from making her tear up. “Anyway, everything’s watered and weeded so I’m done here.” 

Then she started walking, past Marianne and toward the entrance, decidedly not looking at the other girl. Until a quiet word, spoken so softly, stopped her in her tracks. 

“Leonie?” She looked over her shoulder, seeing Marianne looking right back at her, right in her eyes. “Please wait.” 

She turned fully, almost unable to meet those eyes boring into her. They held, for just a moment, a resolve she hadn’t seen in them before. But then it wavered and fell, replaced by the unfortunately familiar worry and doubt. 

“I… I didn’t mean to bother you. I’m sorry for keeping you here.” Her words tumbled out, a deeper tremor shaking her tone with each one. 

“No no no!” Leonie quickly replied, taking a few steps closer. “You didn’t- you’re not. Thank you.” 

Marianne cocked her head to the side in confusion at her outburst, and Leonie couldn’t suppress a smile at the gesture. 

“For keeping me, I mean. I’m glad. I’ve been worried about you.”

Part of Leonie screamed at her to shut up, to stop speaking so honestly, to stem the flow of these naked phrases that could so easily be thrown back in her face. Nevertheless, it wasn’t the part with the reigns, for now. 

“Look, if you ever wanna talk, about anything, just say so. I’ll make time.” 

Marianne gave her a strange look for a moment, almost like she was assessing her, before looking elsewhere and speaking. 

“I’ve been avoiding people most of my life, so I’m not the best at speaking.” She said, and idly reached up to twirl her fingers around one of the strands of hair dangling by her cheek. “I make everyone uncomfortable and I… I just don’t know how to carry a conversation.” 

“Yeah, I know it’s hard, but-” Leonie took another slow step forward, careful not to startle the other girl. “We’re having a conversation right now, and I’m not uncomfortable.” 

“In fact,” She continued, “I’m actually really happy.”

Marianne bit her lip again, though this time Leonie thought she could almost make out the beginnings of a smile on her face, struggling not to form. 

“It’s alright to be quiet sometimes too, Goddess knows I need a break from the Deer every now and again.” Leonie pressed on, increasingly unsure of where her words were going, but eager to take advantage of the little confidence she’d built up. “You’ve just gotta find that middle ground I guess, otherwise you won’t get better.” 

“I… I wouldn’t know where to begin,” Marianne said, “Or what to talk about.” 

Leonie shrugged. “Anything’s fine really. Hobbies, things you like, a dream you had last night. Whatever works.” 

Marianne slowly nodded. Her eyes then darted around, as if searching for something. They soon settled on a patch of flowers to her left, and she gestured to them. 

“I like these flowers.” She said. “Lilies of the Valley, I’ve always loved them.”

For a moment Leonie only looked at her, puzzled before realizing what she was trying to do and cracking a wide, warm smile. 

“You know where I’m from we call them Roseas,” She said, gingerly holding up one of the flowers, examining the little white bell. “They’re pink there, too, not white.” 

“I’d like to see that.” Marianne said, and Leonie looked up at her and was shocked to see a full smile on her face. At least as full as she’d ever seen. Still a little reserved, a little out of place, but brilliant nonetheless. 

“Well, if you ever make it out as far as Sauin, I’ll show you.” 

Marianne stepped back, toward the entrance, one hand holding the other and that meek smile still on her face. “You promise?”

“Yeah.” Leonie stared at her. She couldn’t help it, with the way the fire of the setting sunlight lit up her so often shadowed eyes, and framed her like the Goddess herself was turning her eyes Marianne’s way. 

“Yeah, I promise.” 


	5. Lost and Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're not out of the woods, but we're on the path.

By the time Leonie came to, she was alone. Daylight had fled the sky above, blanketing her and the trees around her in the deep pitch of night. As she attempted to rise, she found herself sorely missing the sun’s warmth. The frigid winds flowing down from Fodlán’s throat writhed and snapped at anyone they came across this time of night, at this time of year. 

Ironic then, that they burned her bleeding wounds, and singed her bruises. They clawed their way through her torn shirt and nested themselves against her trembling chest. 

And yet the cold beckoned. It gave soothing whispers of just how easy it would be to let go. To let the dark take her as it had before. To let the threads of stabbing pains fade away, with the specters of the blows that held dealt them. To let the beaten animal still thrashing about in her just give up its breath, and lie still. 

The sounds of the forest grew louder, the crickets chirped a symphony with the birds shrieking above and the howling wolves further off. Scramblings in the underbrush were thunderous, and the smell of the earth she’d disturbed overwhelmed her. 

Red flowed into her eyes, followed by black, and she fell, far into the dark. 

***

Leonie sprang up from her bed, panting and trembling. The light of morning hadn’t yet lit the room, and in that darkness the afterimages of her dream ran wild across her walls. She glared at them, blinking again and again until the wood stopped resembling still trees in a ink-black forest. 

Her hand shot to the table beside her bed, batting aside any object in the way without a care as she grasped the wooden charm there and brought it to her chest. Even through the thick, course wool of the tunic she’d worn to bed, she could still feel her heart pounding. She pressed the charm closer, as if that could mollify it, or the heaving breaths she was taking.

It wouldn’t of course, at least not on it’s own, so she focused on the charm, on the engraved pattern, the winged triskelion of the Blade Breakers. Her thumb ran over it again and again, feeling the grooves, the sturdy wood turned smooth by years of use. 

It was slow, agonizingly so, but eventually the icy panic flowing through her veins gave way to lukewarm resignation. She sighed, allowing that tepid feeling to sit for a moment before it was inevitably replaced by searing frustration. 

That night was six entire years ago. It was a child’s nightmare. A stupid, weak child’s nightmare. As of today, she was twenty years old, she should be over this. She should be moving on with her life, making some goddess damned use of it. Captain Jeralt was a seasoned mercenary with fully fledged wars in his past, and he almost certainly wasn’t breaking down every month or so. 

She threw the sheets off herself, stood, and walked over to her wardrobe. In movements as mindless as breathing she quickly got dressed in the uniform Claude had given her. The trousers and sleeves were still too long, and the shirt itself was still baggy on her frame, but she’d take it over that accursed skirt any day. 

She’d never say so to Claude’s face of course. That act of charity in and of itself was annoying, partially in that she’d let her visceral discomfort with the girls uniform show so plainly. Still, as she slipped on her boots and strapped her dagger to her belt, she couldn’t bring herself to complain. 

For a moment she sat at the edge of her bed, eyeing the lack of light coming in from under her door. It couldn’t be later than six, five even if she was unlucky. Her gaze turned to her bow, lying unstrung on her desk. She could probably squeeze in an hour or two at the range, and the only person who might be there at that hour would be Shamir, if that. 

She decided against it, but still took a moment to approach it and run a hand along the limb. It was a little over sentimental, perhaps, to treat it the way she did. It was a tool on good days and a weapon on bad ones, it wouldn’t do her any good to get torn up if it broke in the heat of battle. 

Nevertheless, she could practically feel the warmth of the sun the day she’d finished carving its core, the gentle breeze when she’d brought down the Leicester Chamois whose horn was fitted to it. It had left callouses in her palm from all those days of work, and thicker ones in her fingers from the endless hours of practice. 

That hunk of wood carried in it the outburst of joy at her first hit target. The quiet guidance of her father on her first hunt lived in there too, somewhere. Perhaps even her last hunt in Sauin, the last time she’d seen Myrina… 

Leonie shook her head, she hadn’t the right to reminisce. Not while she was here because of the good will of the village. Unearned. Not while she was away from the hunt, leaving them undermanned. Not while she played at dreams of mercenary work, without a penny to repay her debts. 

She turned away from the bow and rushed out her door into the still warming morning air, a bitter taste on her tongue and a twisted cold settling in her gut. 

***

Leonie practically dragged herself through the classes of the day. She truly made an attempt to listen to the lectures, especially the tactical ones. However, as the topic shifted to the strategy of sieges, supply lines and the like, she could feel her eyes glaze over and her mind drift from the diagrams on the chalkboard. 

Instead her gaze wandered around the room, at the motley group that made up her classmates. Beside her, Lysithea scratched note after note onto her parchment, an intense focus on her face as her eyes darted from Professor Cassagranda, to the chalkboard, and to her parchment again. In front of her, Ignatz looked much the same, though with a little less of Lysithea’s manic energy, and beside him Raphael only looked on with mild interest. 

Across from Leonie, Claude and Lorenz both seemed more or less engaged, though the former’s parchment was blank and the latters only held the most elegant looking and functionally useless notes. In front of them, Hilda obviously showed blatant boredom, examining her nails and messing with her hair, but seldom giving even a side glance to the professor. 

Then beside her was Marianne, who looked more exhausted than disinterested. She was paying some attention, but like Leonie, seemed to struggle to keep focus. A few more flyaway hairs stug out of her usual braid too, like it had been done in a hurry, leaving pieces to stick out and hang down over her face. Every now and again, she’d take a few between her fingers and tuck them behind her ear, but they’d only stay there for a moment before defiantly returning to disarray. 

“Ms. Pinelli!” Professor Cassagranda called out, snapping Leonie’s attention from Marianne. 

“Um, yes ma’am?” She replied, painfully aware that she hadn’t the slightest clue what the Professor had been saying. 

“Could you perhaps point out the strategic weakness Lord Torsten Goneril used against Spahbed Chithrafarna to stop his invading force?” She asked, a horribly bright smile on her face. 

Leonie looked from her to the board for a moment, trying to draw some sense from the dotted lines and x’s there, but nothing came. She felt her cheeks heat up as she dipped her head and quietly muttered, “No ma’am.” 

The Professor shook her head with disappointed hum. “Very well, do keep your eyes on the board dear.” She said, adding a wink before turning back to the lesson. 

Leonie felt the warmth in her cheeks grow stinging. Had she seen her stare? Or worse, had she known her intent? Did anyone else? 

She dared not look around the room again, afraid to see some mocking, or worse, pitying look on a classmates face. Ironically enough the incident was enough to fully shake her attention away from the subject being discussed. Too often her focus meandered from Professor Cassagranda’s words to a certain tentative smile, strands of blue hair, and the smell of Roseas… 

Leonie had to stop herself from audibly exhaling once class was dismissed, though she couldn’t persuade herself against rushing out of the classroom. She needed air, or whiskey, or a spear in hand, preferably not all at once. Anything to clear her head. 

Out of the corner of her eye she noticed Marianne break off from the crowd, heading, by the looks of it, for the cathedral. Leonie’s legs almost dragged her off in the same direction before her head intervened. She’d bothered her enough this last week, and it’d be nothing but self serving to coax another conversation out of her. Plus, whatever these thoughts were, they weren’t something she wanted coming up when she was around Marianne. 

So instead she made her way to her own room. Perhaps afterwards she’d go to the greenhouse, or the archery range, maybe even the training grounds if the crowds were thin enough. The latter option felt especially appealing, at least to get this strange energy out of her, and to let her focus on something material, something she could really  _ feel.  _

Finally she made it to her room, closed the door behind her, and practically threw her books onto her desk. She undid her jacket with the same haste, throwing it onto the edge of her bed. She was about to reach for the door when she heard a knock from the other side. 

She jumped at the sound and for a moment her hand wrapped around the hilt of her dagger, before she took a breath and released it. She opened the door, and was surprised to find none other than Byleth Eisner. 

The Professor had done away with her own academy uniform, though she still wore her typical, though deeply unusual coat. Under it she wore a set of simple riding clothes, with boots scuffed from time in the stirrup.. 

“Are you free right now, Leonie?” She asked, with her customary lack of affect.

Leonie looked to the bow on her table. It could wait for another time. 

“Uh, yeah sure. What do you want?” 

Byleth nodded with enthusiasm, her eyes brightening in an expression closer to a smile than she usually gave. 

“Good. Meet me by the stables in half an hour.” She said, and then with a swirl of her coat she turned and left. 

Leonie shut the door behind her. Again she considered taking her bow. She probably ought to if Byleth was going to drag her into some sort of exercise. Still, the professors demeanor hadn’t suggested anything of that nature, she was usually more reserved when acting as a teacher. Just a moment ago she looked more the young woman just two- make that  _ a  _ year her senior. 

There was also  _ that.  _ What today was. Leonie hadn’t said anything but it was certainly possible there was some record sitting around somewhere. 

She scowled at the thought. If this was some act of pity or charity she wanted none of it. If the people of her village were down a hunter she wasn’t going to celebrate their misfortune. Birthdays were wasteful affairs. She wanted for little at the moment anyway, so why bother? 

For a second she deliberated, weighing the social cost of refusing against the damage to her ego, and came up lacking. She sighed and began to throw on clothes more suited to riding. 

***

Leonie found Byleth waiting by an already saddled horse near the entrance of the stables. She had no weapon with her, which ruled out any sort of practice. That only left the matter of her turning twenty, which lit up the same indignation in her it had before. 

She approached the professor with her arms folded over her chest and a scowl on her face, but the woman paid her expression absolutely no mind. 

“I saddled Surrey already.” Was all she said, before hopping onto her own horse and motioning for Leonie to follow. 

Leonie, for her part, wanted to drag Byleth off her horse and demand answers for her bizarre behavior, but the strange enthusiasm she had was infectious. Curiosity took her hands as she climbed into the saddle and began to follow Byleth. 

She had her horse at a slow trot to safely navigate the afternoon throngs of the market, deftly weaving between merchants, patrons, and pilgrims. Behind her, Leonie struggled to keep up. 

She was usually quite confident in her horsemanship, but all her practice in the open fields the academy drilled their equestrians in did little to help her in the urban chaos that lay just beyond the gates of Garreg Mach. In her mind's eye she repeatedly saw herself trampling some dignitary that’d have her commoner head for such insolence. Only once she and Byleth passed through the outer gates did she allow herself to take a breath.

The air of the Oghma Mountains, free of the cacophony of scents in the market, hit her hard. It was so different from the forests of Sauin, yet in it she could feel the same fresh tranquility. She looked ahead and saw Byleth, eyes closed, luxuriating in a manner the same as she. 

Her tousled tresses shook ever so slightly in the suggestion of wind, and a tiny smile grew on her face. It struck her that this was the most expressive she’d ever seen Byleth. While she knew the professor was an avid fighter, a masterful mage and an apparently frequent fisherman, she’d never truly seen the woman  _ enjoy  _ anything quite like she was now. 

It set an odd feeling of warmth in her, unlike any she was sure she’d felt before. It wasn’t the same strange tumultuous sort of feeling she had around Marianne. No, it was more akin to the feeling of coming out from the cold into a room gently touched by the heat of embers in a fireplace.

It was a comfortable feeling that bloomed in her chest as Byleth turned to her, and spoke.

“Race you to the bottom?” 

Leonie grinned and nodded, and both women took the reins of their horses and began to gallop them down the steep winding path from the gates to the foot of the great hill the monastery rested upon. 

In seconds the world lurched from tranquility to breakneck motion. The wind rushed past Leonie’s ears, through her hair, across her cheeks, and she could feel every impact of Surrey’s hooves against the earth below. Laughter burst forth from her chest unbidden, as natural as breathing as they raced down the road. 

For a moment Byleth pulled just ahead of her, and Leonie saw her hair and coat billow in the wind like the sails of a strange ship, carving through the air as easily as a knife through butter. In turn, she urged Surrey forward, and pulled ahead herself. 

Then she heard a strange sound behind her that took a moment to recognize as laughter.  _ Byleth’s  _ laughter. It was truly bizarre to hear, but far from unpleasant, and easy to add to with her own joyous, unthinking mirth. 

They both quieted as the foot of the hill approached, however, marked by a flag about a person's height bearing the knights’ insignia. Leonie leaned forward, moving with Surrey, and saw out of the corner of her eye Byleth doing the same. 

Then she thundered past the flagpole, just barely followed by Byleth. She let loose a cheer and threw her arms out as Surrey slowed to a trot. They circled back until they were side by side with Byleth and her steed. The professor had what anyone else would have called a small grin, but was for her a beaming smile. 

“I won.” Leonie said to her, her voice full of self satisfaction. Petty as it was, it was nice to beat the other woman in something. 

“So you did, that was some good riding.” Byleth replied, ever graceful. 

Leonie nodded and turned her and Surrey to face the wood just beyond the path up to the monastery. 

It wasn’t particularly dense, lit through with rays of sunshine that lazily drifted past the leaves and branches. Nevertheless, for a second a flash of darkness seethed far into the forest, and she felt an unnatural chill crawl up her shoulder blades.

She turned her head away, back to Byleth, who seemed not to have noticed her brief discomfort. 

“Where are you taking me, anyway?” She asked. 

“This way.” Byleth motioned toward a smaller dirt trail off from the main road. “It’s not far.” 

And with that she rode on, with Leonie following behind her. Faster than they had in the market, but at a snail's pace compared to their earlier frenzied sprint. 

The path pulled sharply off to the side, leading them parallel to the forest. They continued until the trees began to thin and the land opened up into a valley. A verdant expanse cradled by a river flowing gently down from the Oghma and meandering through the landscape. The river wasn’t particularly large, but appeared deep and reached far to the south, presumably into the lands of Varley. 

Then, as Leonie’s eyes followed the water, she spied a familiar figure sat at the edge of the banks, one fishing pole in hand and two planted in the ground beside his boots. He looked odd without his usual armor and orange tabard, now replaced by a simple worn shirt and trousers, but still eyed the water as intently as he eyed a foe in combat. 

Jeralt Eisner only cast them a quick glance as they approached before turning his attention back to the river, waving them over without looking up again. 

Leonie eagerly hopped off her horse, followed by Byleth. 

“Captain Jeralt! What are you doing here?” Leonie asked. 

“Careful kid, you’ll scare the fish.” He said, shooting her a crooked grin. 

There was a splash in the water, and a split second later Jeralt had pulled the rod back and yanked a fish up out of the water. He eyed it for a moment and sighed. 

“Just a goby, not a keeper.” He said, then unhooked the fish and carefully tossed it back. 

Without a word, Byleth walked to his left side and sat down, then looked expectantly at Leonie. Or at least she thought it was a look of expectation. Leonie’s mind filled that blankness of Byleth’s expressions with any manner of things, and a voice at the back of it screamed at her to run. That she was trespassing on something here. 

Still she sat on the unoccupied right side, albeit further away and stiff with an awkward tension that wouldn’t abate. Byleth seemed not to notice any of this, and quickly plucked the rod nearest to her out of the dirt. In a practiced and fluid motion she cast it almost to the bank on the other side of the river. Satisfied, she tucked her legs under herself, and began to watch the water much as her father had done before their arrival.

Jeralt cast his own line, and for a spell the father and daughter were only preoccupied with the river, their eyes calmly searching for the shadows of a potential catch. It would’ve been a serene scene if Leonie hadn’t felt like so completely out of place in it. 

Eventually this caught the attention of Jeralt, who raised an eyebrow at her. 

“Are you gonna wait for them to leap into your lap?” He asked. His voice sounded odd in jest, like it wasn’t quite made for it. 

“No, I-” Leonie said. “I know this is your guys family thing and I dunno if I should… intrude.” 

Jeralt scoffed at that and shook his head. “Sounds so sentimental if you put it like that. Right now all I see is two old hat mercenaries and some new blood taking our hard earned time off.” 

And with that he turned back to the river, just in time to see Byleth pull up a large, thin, blue scaled fish about as long as her arm. She smiled and Jeralt gave her a rough clap on the back. 

“There you go, kid. Caledonian gar, that one we keep. You know what to do.” 

Byleth nodded and reached into a sack beside her father, from which she withdrew a set of three rods, that Leonie quickly recognized as a makeshift hanging rack. Byleth set her fish on one of the hooks, and then cast her line back out into the water. 

That set a familiar fire in Leonie’s gut, the same that had burned in her when she and Byleth raced down the road from Garreg Mach. She snatched up her own rod and cast it out, giving the other woman an impish side eye she was delighted to see returned. She cast her line out and waited impatiently. This was a competition now, and she had no intention of coming up short. 

***

Ultimately, as one would expect, the affair remained far more serene in actuality then Leonie had felt in that moment. There were moments of bitter jealousy and smug accomplishment in kind. However, more time was devoted to Jeralt telling mercenary stories after Leonie’s pestering. Even Byleth told a tale or two, though in a simple matter of fact way that felt more like a report than an epic. 

Leonie herself attempted to offer something in the way of recollection. A particularly notable hunt, the fending off of a wolf attack. The typical woes of small villages at the edges of dukedoms, but they felt deeply miniscule next to the escapades of mercenaries. 

They seemed to entertain the other two though. They’d crack a smile, even laugh a few times, and in those moments Leonie would feel a little less small. A little more the rogueish figure recounting her adventures to a rapt audience in a smoky tavern, a little less a girl, just barely a teenager no longer, stumbling through anecdotes to her greatest idol and her highest envy. 

Eventually, the sky’s gentle blue yielded to burning sunset, and the rack behind them filled to bursting. 

The final catch came from Leonie, much to her own pride, a gleaming Varley Pike. It was smaller than the largest fish Byleth caught, a fat Adrestian Bullhead right before, but it still gets a nod of approval from Jeralt, and that was enough for her. Enough to bundle up and keep with her, like a hearth in hand when the wind bit her skin, or the sun fell just a little further beneath the horizon than usual. 

It was enough that when she turned to hand back the fishing pole to Captain Jeralt, it felt more like picking a scab then ripping out a splinter. It also meant that she wasn’t completely unprepared for the hand he held up to stop her. 

“It’s yours, I’m not gonna just steal your stuff.” She said, insistent. 

Jeralt looked at her funny for a moment, before chuckling and shaking his head. “Kid, it’s a gift. Happy twentieth.” 

Leonie looked down at the rod. It wasn’t exactly the stuff of royalty, but it was intricate, hand carved by someone who knew what they wanted when they sat down at a riverbank. It was something she absolutely could not just accept. 

“I- I can’t take this, sir.” 

Jeralt only rolled his eyes. “Sure you can. In fact, it’s not a choice. You’ll hurt Byleth’s feelings if you don’t, and I can’t allow that.” 

Leonie looked behind him, to Byleth busying herself with putting away the rest of the fishing gear with a little too much focus. 

She sighed, and shouldered the fishing pole. “Alright, fine.” 

Jeralt’s lip curled up to a smirk. He clapped Leonie on the shoulder, almost knocking her over with the unexpected force. Behind them, Byleth held a hand over her mouth to cover up a quiet chuckle. Leonie shot her a glare, and hopped up onto her horse. Jeralt and Byleth followed suit, and all three brought their horses away from the riverbank, and back onto the main road to Garreg Mach. 

As they did, Byleth and Jeralt talked quietly about the school, Byleth’s students, how she was adapting. Every other moment or so one of them directed a question Leonie’s way, but for the most part she stayed silent beside them, observing. 

Her hand drifted up to her neck, to the wooden charm there. She traced the symbol there, the three points of the triskelion, and each wing. She traced each groove in the wood, like the thumb was the knife carving in each line. Warmth bloomed up and down her chest. 

It settled in her gently, like a leaf settling on the surface of a pond. Neither the high winds flowing down from the Oghma or the fading heat of the sun could take that from her, not tonight.


	6. Black Deer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leonie gets in fights and asks questions.

The air crackled with the chaotic energy of magic, and filled with the clacking and clanging of training weapons smashing against wood and flesh. The dusty floor of the training grounds was turned into a sandstorm by the rushing steps of the Black Eagles and the Golden Deer as students charged into combat against their paired opponent of the other house. 

Leonie herself was coupled with Ferdinand von Aegir, whose bloviating about his nobility had thankfully been long since silenced by the strikes on her own lance. She’d kept him on the defensive, jabbing at every window she saw, whether or not there was a chance of actually making contact. 

It’d quickly wiped that smug little grin he always sported right off his purebred face. Now he carried a nervous scowl and a white knuckle grip on his spear as he frantically batted away her every thrust.

He was losing ground, stepping back again and again and more out of proper form each time. Leonie smirked as he lowered his guard further after a strike at his legs, and quickly stepped forward past the tip of his spear. In a few quick movements, she flipped her spear around and rammed the dull end into Ferdinands sternum. 

His cry of surprise was choked in his throat by a cough, and a hand left his weapon for his chest. Leonie then closed his lance between her bicep and her side and wrenched back. Ferdinand, carried by the hand still on his spear, tumbled forward but couldn’t hold his grip, and the weapon clattered uselessly to the ground behind Leonie. 

She stepped back, just enough to allow her own lance enough room to strike at him. Then she did, through his legs then yanked back and to the side, tossing his right leg out from under him. 

Ferdinand hit the ground in heap, panting and clutching his chest. Leonie smiled and wiped the sweat from her brow before stepping over him and placing the point of her spear under his chin. He shut his eyes and sighed. 

“I yield.” 

Leonie couldn’t stop herself from laughing, “How noble of you.”

Ferdinand shot her a sharper look than she would’ve thought him capable of, before pulling himself up and attempting to dust off his uniform. 

“Nothing dishonorable to losing to a worthy opponent.” He said, attempted to regain some semblance of his usual haughty self. “Thank you for the lesson.” 

Leonie only scoffed at that, and glanced at the others. Around them, the other duels were wrapping up as well. To their right, Dorothea had already finished with Marianne, and was talking gently to the other girl. To their left, Hubert had slumped to a kneeling position, winded, while an equally exhausted Lysithea stood victorious. 

It was only a few moments more before a sharp  _ crack  _ and a blindingly bright flame lit the air above them, causing everyone to turn their attention to the professors at the far end of the grounds. Manuela lowered her hand, still smoking from the spell she’d cast, and smiled wide at her students. Beside her Byleth stood with her arms folded over her chest, typically unreadable. For a moment, her eyes lingered on Leonie, though she couldn’t place what emotion lay there. 

In a rush, students gathered themselves and returned to the lines of their houses. The victorious, Leonie included, walked back with chests puffed and heads held high. The defeated trudged back with scarlet faces, and some with excuses and deflections already on their lips. 

Hilda, Claude, and Lorenz clumped together. Ignatz with Raphael, and Lysithea crossed right through house lines to talk to Edelgard and Hubert. Leonie herself hung back, observing the others, slowly feeling the adrenaline leave her and the beginnings of aches where blows had connected flare up. 

She found Marianne, similarly, avoiding the groups, and ran a hand through her hair before walking over. The other girl had a dejected look on her face, though more pouting than despairing. She brightened some when she saw Leonie walk over, and the older girl pointedly ignored the spark in her heart that reaction caused. 

“You did very well.” She said. 

Leonie felt a blush warm her cheeks, “Eh, you know how Ferdinand is. All bark and no bite.” 

Marianne chuckled, an adorable windchime of a laugh. “Well, you did better than I did in any case.” 

Leonie looked over to the Eagles, seeing Dorothea laughing with Petra. She was practically glowing, as she always was. 

She turned back to Marianne and shrugged. “Frontline mage against a healer though? Not all that fair in my book.” 

Marianne shifted in place. “You don’t need to make excuses on my behalf.” 

Leonie shook her head. “No! Sorry I didn’t-” 

“Ms. Pinelli!” Byleth’s voice cut over the din. 

Leonie looked over at the summons, her stomach turning cold. She still couldn’t quite discern Byleth’s expression, but it was an odd analytical one. She said something to Professor Cassagranda that Leonie couldn’t hear, before motioning her over. 

Her legs felt like lead, but she forced them to move. Outside of class, Byleth was… at least approaching amiable. Leonie felt she knew, on some level, how to talk to her. 

She had no such assurance when dealing with Professor Eisner. The two might as well be different people. While teaching, Byleth gave nothing away, and only emoted if she wanted you to see what she was thinking. It made the short steps over to her feel like a long walk to a hangman's noose, especially after she had just thrown about one of her students. 

“Leonie.” She said, once they were standing face to face. 

“Yes ma’am?” She fought hard to keep her voice level, devoid of nervousness. 

“You fought well today. Ferdinand didn’t stand much of a chance.” 

Leonie rubbed the back of her neck, now sheepish in her achievement. “Yeah. Um, sorry I went so hard on him.” 

Byleth shook her head. “Don’t be. The fault lies with me, I should have taught Ferdinand better defense.” 

She paused for a moment, considering, and continued. “Though none of my students have had to fight someone trained by my father before.” 

That comment set Leonie’s cheeks aflame. “Well… trained might be a little bit of a strong word.” 

“Well, perhaps.” Byleth said. “But I’m sure I saw my fathers forms today.” 

Leonie had to look away. She didn’t know what to do with such praise. She didn’t know where to put the feelings it gave her. They were foreign things, alien to her, and without any sort of place where she could set them down and process them. 

For a moment there was a silence between the two women. Leonie opened her mouth and closed it again twice. She knew she ought to say something, but the words simply wouldn’t form in her throat. 

“Are you happy with Professor Cassagranda, Leonie?” Byleth asked. 

Leonie looked back to her. What sort of question was that? Was it some sort of test?

“I… I suppose so. She’s a really good healer and all, and she handles herself well with a sword.” 

“But you don’t wield a sword, at least not yet.” 

“Well yeah, but it’s not a problem her tactics are good, and I can kinda pick up stuff from that.” Leonie replied. “And I can always attend a class from Shamir or Seteth for lance technique.” 

She was unsure why, but she felt compelled to defend Manuela. The woman was kind, even if her teachings weren’t suited to her. It’s not like she had any other options anyways.

Byleth looked away for a moment, seeming to chew on her whatever she was about to say. When she looked back at Leonie, she almost looked scared.

“Would you, perhaps, like to learn from me?” 

Leonie stared at her for a moment. Her heart skipped a beat and her blood turned cold. She wanted to yell ‘Yes! Absolutely! Of course!’ but stayed silent. 

A part of her begged just as loudly to run in the other direction. This was a trick of some sort, it has to be. She didn’t get opportunities, she didn’t get chances with people. 

Except… she did with Marianne. She talked to her now, however fumbling their conversations were. But that thought only tumbled down another road. How could she leave Marianne behind in the Deer? 

“I-” She started, without any words thought out to follow it. “I need um, to think about it, first.” 

Byleth took a deep breath and nodded. She looked small, just for a second. It had never really occurred to Leonie that she was taller than the other woman. Not by much, just an inch or so, but enough to matter. Enough that when Byleth bent her head ever so slightly, her gaze up at Leonie made her seem to tower over her. 

“Professor!” A voice rang out from behind them. They both turned, to see Edelgard waving Byleth over. 

“I’ll be there in a moment!” She called back. Then she looked to Leonie. “I’ll talk to you later, then?” 

Leonie nodded and made her way back to her own house. She considered them all. Few were friendly, and only one she would be comfortable calling a true friend. 

She got on with Raphael and Lysithea, and Claude had been kind to her. Lorenz was nauseating to be in the presence of but every house had at least one overbearing man sharing that distinction. Ignatz was certainly amiable, but had as little interest in her as she had in him. Then there was Hilda, whom she’d considered… a possible acquaintance at the very least, until her ‘incident’ with Marianne. 

That particular episode was her own fault, for turning out the way it did. Still, she couldn’t help but eye Hilda with suspicion since then. What had she intended that day? It appeared that she cared for Marianne, but in what capacity? Leonie hadn’t any clue, Hilda was just about as easy to read as Byleth. 

That only left Marianne. The quiet religious girl with a fondness for horses, who seemed to have so little in common with a grizzled brute like herself. 

At the moment, she was healing a few scrapes Ignatz had gotten in his fight with Bernadetta. Beside her, Raphael was telling a story of some escapade or other, gesturing about as he did. At one particularly boisterous moment, he drew a giggle out of Marianne, one she held a hand up to her lips to stifle. 

Leonie looked away, right down at her own boots. She shouldn’t worry too much about Marianne. Everyone around her adored her, even if she didn’t know it. She didn’t need Leonie sticking around just for her sake. She’d realize that soon enough.

***

Leonie took her dinner back to her room that day. Even her cordial interactions with the deer had felt wrong. Guilt had wrapped its tendrils around her guts, and it tightened every time one of her classmates tried to draw her into the conversation. 

After scarfing her food down though, her mind was free to focus fully on her dilemma. Solace, it turned out, did nothing to quiet her thoughts. Instead, it just left her lying in bed, contemplating the woodwork of the ceiling while again and again she turned Byleth’s offer over in her head. 

A Black Eagle, her, a Black Eagle. She had no strong feelings on Adrestia whatsoever, yet clearly Adrestianness ran right through that class, especially with Edelgard at the helm. 

And how would she know if she even got on with anyone there? They were almost entirely noble-born, with Ferdinand going so far as to declare as much at every turn. Even if he wasn’t a creep like Lorenz, she couldn’t imagine she’d ever be friends with him. 

Would they even tolerate her? She couldn’t exactly hide away just how… different, she was. How many times could she pull a stunt like she had today before someone paid to have her expelled, or her throat slit if she was particularly unlucky. She was an upstart commoner who couldn’t even bother to be pretty like Dorothea, what could they possibly want her around for? 

She sighed and grasped at her hair, as if this anxious ennui would be planted somewhere there. As if it was something she could find protruding from her skin and tear out, like a scab worn white over a just-healed wound. It wasn’t, of course. If her nervousness, her anger, were things worn like cysts on her skin she would have ripped herself apart years ago just to get them out. 

If she was honest with herself, she felt that what she was doing now wasn’t so different than that. Probing at a question she knew she couldn’t answer in a heartbeat, and demanding that her mind show her the right choice if it wanted any reprieve. 

She sat up from her bed, eyeing the door. It wasn’t too late in the evening to go looking for a sympathetic ear. The problem lay more in how few of those she had. Marianne was out of the question of course, that girl hardly needed someone else’s stress on her plate. Byleth too, it would hardly do to ask advice of the person who posed the question. 

Leonie thought for a moment, scratching away for some way out of thinking on this alone. Mercedes would probably be perfect. She was kind, warm, and easier to talk to than most. Though she was also currently off helping the Knights clearing bandits out of some backwater part of Faerghus, and likely wouldn’t be back until later in the week. That was long to wait this problem out. Too long to avoid Byleth, and too long to feel painfully awkward around her classmates. That only left one option, and it was the one she dreaded the most. 

Captain Jeralt would still be biased, it was his daughter who posed the question in the first place, but his wisdom ought to set her mind a little more at ease. It also meant going to him and spilling her guts like a freshly slaughtered pig, and asking him to sift through the entrails for bits of truth. It was revolting, terrifying, and probably the best choice she had. 

She dragged herself off the bed with a frustrated groan, and crossed her room and entered the courtyard. She looked around it for a moment, and made a beeline for the stairs up to the Teachers offices once she was satisfied no one in her class would see her. Once upstairs, she rounded each corner with the same caution, part of her somehow convinced that someone would appear and try to stop her from leaving the Deer. 

She breathed a sigh of relief when she spotted a glow coming from Captain Jeralts office, and gingerly walked over, careful not to alert any potential Actresses turned professors who might be next door. Only when she was right at the threshold of the Captain’s office itself did she breath a sigh of relief. 

He was a bit of a bizarre figure sitting behind a desk in a Knight’s uniform. He was pouring over a piece of parchment, some report or other, and scratching at it with a quill every now and again, accompanied by a soft grunt to himself. 

Leonie was about to knock on the doorframe when he spoke, without even looking up.

“Yes, Leonie?” 

“Uh,” Leonie floundered for a moment. Her eyes darted between Captain Jeralt and the documents on his desk. “Nevermind, you’re busy I wouldn’t wanna-” 

“Nope.” He said, cutting right through her rambling, “Not getting out of it that easily, take a seat.” 

He gestured to the chair in front of his desk, and Leonie obliged, however uncomfortably. Once she did he finally looked up, setting his parchment aside and his quill back into his well. There was a brief silence, before he sighed, leaned back, and spoke.

“So.” He started. “This about Byleth?”

Leonie felt her eyebrows shoot up. “How’d you know?” 

Jeralt laughed, a quiet rumbling laugh. “She came to me too. A couple times, in fact. If I could help her with the question I could probably help you with the answer.” 

Leonie bowed her head, staring intently at the lacing of her boots. “I just don’t know, feels like I’m letting people down.” 

He shrugged. “I don’t think so, it’s not like the people of Sauin are gonna care much whether you were trained by Leicestrians or Adrestians. Unless you have some secret loyalty to the Duke I don’t know about.” 

Leonie smirked and shook her head, “No sir, nothing like that.” 

“I promise your classmates won’t accuse you of treason for learning along with foreigners too. If you were leaving the blue lions than maybe, but it’s my understanding that Claude is less keen on such things.” 

“I suppose so.” Leonie picked at the arm of her chair, avoiding Jeralt's eyes. 

“You’re here to train to be a mercenary, yes?” 

Leonie nodded, thankful he hadn’t included the detail that she intended as much because of him. 

“And Byleth  _ is  _ a mercenary. So it’s best for her to teach you. I know I’m biased but that seems plenty practical to me.” 

She rubbed the back of her neck, “I guess.” 

“Look,” Jeralt leaned forward in his chair, setting his arms on the desk. “I think you know the choice you wanna make, you just have to settle into it first.” 

She thought for a second. It lined up. If she sat down that nervous, fidgety part of her brain and asked it directly what it wanted, then learning from Byleth seemed to be it. If she couldn’t learn from Captain Jeralt himself at least, then his daughter would be the next best thing. She received the best of his training, and forged herself into a fighter all her own. 

She used the blade and the tome in concert so fluidly that it made any other weapons seem pointless and languid. It puzzled her, especially since Byleth seemed to be a talented equestrian as well. Would she hold a lance as easily as a sword? Perhaps even better than Leonie could? 

_ Well if Jeralt taught her, then yeah, probably.  _ Leonie thought. For a second a bitter swell of envy rose up in her gut, but she fought it back. If all went well, then she might make up for those lost years, might actually become a mercenary worth her salt. Or at least one capable of paying back a particularly vexing debt. 

She saw the fantasy in her head for a breath. Herself among the Blade Breakers, or maybe even with her own company. Or a grizzled loner like Shamir, silently putting an end to corrupt nobles for the right coin. Too damn scary to be judged, to be challenged, to be hurt.

“Alright.” She said, surprising herself with her own confidence. “I’ll do it, I’ll tell her.” 

Jeralt grinned, his eyes twinkling with what Leonie desperately wanted to believe was pride. “Well then I don’t know what you’re still here for.” 

She stood, nodded to him. “Thank you for the advice, sir.” 

He rolled his eyes. “No problem kid.” 

She left the office with little of the caution she’d had while entering it. She hardly had a spring in her step, but she walked with purpose. She knew what she was doing, more or less. Not a thing that she’d often say of her own actions, but hard to deny when the motions of them felt as right as they did then. 

Still, once in the hallway outside, she paused by the room she had carefully avoided before. Professor Cassagranda was humming while busying herself with some chart or other, a serene smile on her face despite what looked like boring work. 

A pang of guilt struck Leonie, even as much of her still wished to run past and ignore it, shouldn’t she say something to her? She hadn’t been the Professor she’d needed, but she’d been kind enough, and it’d likely be quite rude to just leave the class without a word to her first. 

“Um, Professor Cassagranda?” Leonie whispered into the room. 

The woman looked up, and smiled at the sight of her student. It was warmer than she deserved, under the circumstances. 

“Yes, dear?” 

“I um,” Leonie swallowed a lump in her throat. “I thought that you should know that I’m leaving the Golden Deer ma’am.” 

Manuela frowned. “Oh, well that is a shame. Will you be needing help getting back to Sauin then or-” 

“No!” Leonie interjected, cursing her inability to make her words come out right. “I’m joining the Black Eagles, I want to learn from Professor Byleth.” 

Professor Cassagranda gave her a strange look, before throwing her head back and laughing, “Oh of course you are!” 

“Ma’am?” Leonie folded her hands in front of herself, puzzled. Had she offended her? Said something off?

“No offense dear but I saw this one coming miles away, I’m surprised it took Byleth this long to ask!” 

“Oh,” Leonie stood stunned for a moment. She wasn’t sure how she expected Manuela to react, but this felt better than she’d hoped. “So… you’re okay with this?” 

“Certainly, Miss Pinelli.” The Professor nodded. “I daresay you belong in the eagles, dear. We’ll miss you, of course, but I only wish you the best.” 

Leonie doubted that but smiled just the same. “Thank you ma’am, it was an honor being your student.”

“Likewise,” Manuela said, “Now be careful around that Hubert character, and do be kind to my Dorothea or you’ll have to be careful around me.”

Leonie nodded, and took her leave from the infirmary. Once in the hall, now empty of the usual handful of knights and nuns, she spotted a flash of blue toward the stairwell. She rushed to the threshold leading below, hoping to run into what could only be Marianne, but found only empty air. 

She shook her head. She was tired, seeing things after a day of more social maneuvering than she was truly meant for. Her bed called, and she intended to answer. 

She didn’t notice Marianne, pressed up against the wall beside the entrance to the courtyard from the stairwell. She passed her, oblivious to her girl with a hand over her mouth, stifling unstable breaths that threatened to tumble out into sobbing gasps. She heard none of the girls prayers, torn between pleading to keep her away and safe and a desperate hope that she would stay. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops this chapter took way too long and I'm still not thrilled with how it came out! Oh well, Marianne pov next time we'll see how that goes.


	7. Contrition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prayer, Panic, and finally, Peace.

The Cathedral of Garreg Mach was as close to empty as it ever was when Marianne stepped into it. In the latest hours of the night, only the most devout lingered in the alcoves of the building, leaving the main chamber barren. It was the ideal for her, the safest way to repent. 

She made her way down the central aisle up to the transept, where the grand mosaic depicting the Crest of Seiros lay just in front of her feet. She kneeled, and looked up to the pulpit where the Archbishop herself delivered mass. She imagined her there now, bathed in the moonlight catching the colors of the stained glass. 

Beautiful. Divine. Immaculate. 

Looking down on an unworthy sinner.

She turned her gaze away, to the stonework of the floor. Her eyes traced the silver inlaid between tiles that outlined the sacred crest of the church’s founder. It glowed even in the dim light, like it was defying the dark itself. 

She had always thought it looked like a flowerbud. The mark of the prophet whose work would bloom into the return of the Goddess to Fódlan. It suited the sanctity of it’s station.

Her own crest, by comparison, was a twisted and jagged perversion. A glyph of thorns and bone spurs jutting every which way to mark the cold face of a degraded being. Less than an animal, it was the mark of a monster. 

She shook her head, ignoring how that drew more hair from her braid and into her face. Her hands clasped together, with bitten fingernails digging into her knuckles. The sting grounded her, kept her focused on the spirit of the Cathedral, as she began to pray. 

“Dear Goddess, I am deeply sorry for having offended you. I detest my sins, my choosing to do wrong and my failure to do good. I accept my penance, and your just punishments. Under the guidance of the Blue Sea light, may I never waver into sin again, and may it save me from my temptations, Oh Goddess.”

A sigh of relief left her as soon as the words ceased. Her gut still swam with guilt, but the panic of earlier had abated enough. 

This was a good thing, as she kept reassuring herself. It was the Goddess’s will that Leonie leave the Deer, and Marianne ought to thank her for it again and again until her voice grew hoarse. 

She was being saved from temptation, from hurting others with her curse. It shouldn’t feel like loss, it shouldn’t feel like a betrayal. Not from Leonie, but from the world. Fate playing as cruel a joke on her as it did when it birthed a blood-polluted being like her into the world. 

She focused on the blood beading up where her nails bit her skin, and the rough stone against her knees, and began to pray again. The rhythm took hold fast, but her mind was faster. _Those_ images began to surface, as they so often did in the empty periods of her days. 

Behind her eyelids, she saw red. The flash of teeth and claws, the sounds of what were supposed to be screams, distorted. She saw the ruined chambers of that estate, it’s wooden bones cracked and silk skin torn. 

She redoubled her prayers, her voice beginning to quiver as she recited. For a spell it seemed like it worked, the old images faded. Then they were replaced by new ones. Plucked not from memory, and ones she could only hope weren’t prophetic. 

The halls of Garreg Mach, marked like the estate of her birth by talons and teeth. Crimson dragged down the pristine corridors, the growling in the distance. Persimmon hair matted with blood-

Holy words faltered and she clamped a hand over her mouth to suppress a sob. Her other hand fell to the stone, bracing herself as she shook.

This was her warning, she knew. She had always known the inevitable result of association with her. The Goddess had acted through Professor Eisner to save Leonie, and this selfish impulse to keep her nearby was only the whim of the beast that dwelt within. 

After a few steadying breaths, her self consciousness returned, and she pulled herself up. The pulpit still stared down at her, and found her wanting. The serenity shattered, she walked out of the Cathedral, arms wound tightly around herself. 

Sleep evaded Marianne throughout that night. In the spaces where her mind stepped to the precipice of rest, that same abyss roared back. In the blackness of her room, shapes darted about in the corners. In the heavy quiet, every creak became a whisper, every gesture of the wind became a scream.

Eventually, she abandoned the possibility of sleep. Instead, the last hours until morning were passed in candlelight, with her knees pressed to her chest and her eyes stubbornly open. 

She could bear this. She had to. 

***

Morning came without a care to the terror of the night prior. To add insult to injury, the bell for classes rang too, leaving Marianne to drag herself to the lecture hall with an aching exhaustion far past her usual enervated state. 

She was late, later than usual anyway. Professor Cassagranda hadn’t arrived yet but Hilda had, and quickly waved her over to the table they shared. She sat down and avoided eye contact with the girl beside her, hoping beyond hope that the deep bags under her eyes wouldn’t be seen as anything out of the ordinary. 

If Hilda noticed anything, she said nothing, though Marianne swore she noticed a passing look of concern in her peripheral. Best to ignore it, keep her at arm's length too.

The whole room sat in an oppressive quiet, all eyes pointedly avoiding the spot where Leonie _would_ have been. Though the girl seldom made all that much noise herself, during class at least, her absence made a vacuum of sound. 

Only murmurs came from Claude and Lorenz, well past subdued compared to their usual mix of arguing and boasting. Not even Raphael dared break the silence with some loud comment directed at no one in particular. 

It was a relief then, when they heard someone enter the room. They turned as one, and instead of Professor Cassagranda, they saw Ser Nevrand entering the hall. 

The mercenary muttered a “Morning,” as she strolled past the desks and up to the board. A few words and symbols were scratching neatly into it, and the lecture began.

Her voice rang out through the room, low and nearly monotone, but not unpleasant. Certainly better than the Seteth’s authoritative directions or Hanemans scattered delivery. 

Marianne tried to pay attention to the content, something about high grounds, woodland cover and the like, but her mind slid off of it like rain off of roof tiles. It drifted then, to watching Shamir’s gesture’s as she spoke. Each seemed sharp, and direct, while still minute. 

It reminded her of Leonie when she spoke, if a little calmer. Was it something to do with archery? They shared the same strange gloves too. The ones that covered their first three fingers, and left out their last two. Marianne was unsure if she’d ever seen Leonie without them, in fact. Had she worn them while gardening? Did she wear them to bed? 

She thought of the girls fight with Ferdinand the day before, the way she’d twisted and lunged at her opponent. How she’d embodied grace and power with her lance. Then of course she thought of that triumphant grin she’d given Marianne when she’d turned her way. It was the sort of look she wanted to bottle up and keep for grey days, to remind her what the sun looked like.

Without meaning to, her head had fallen onto her hand, just barely propped up on the desk. Between Shamir’s lecturing and the company of her thoughts, her grasp on the waking world slipped, and her eyes slid shut, playing out that smile as she fell asleep. 

***

The bells of Garreg Mach sounded the passing of the hour, and snapped Marianne out of her slumber. Her head shot up from the desk and looked around, seeing her classmates packing their things and leaving the lecture hall. To her left, she saw Hilda, giving her an impish grin. 

“Hey there sleepyhead,” 

“I-” Marianne blushed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.” 

“Don't worry about it." Hilda said with a shake of her head, "And no offense, but you looked like you needed it.” 

Marianne looked away and bit her lip, saying nothing. She only turned back when Hilda lightly bumped her shoulder with her own. 

“Sooo?” Her voice was singsong, full of an implication that Marianne couldn’t figure. 

“So?” 

“What’s going on in there?” Hilda asked, poking her on the forehead as she did. 

Marianne flinched at the gesture, and replied. “Nothing, nothing at all.” 

Hilda cocked her head. “Are you sure about that? No one stays up all night thinking about nothing.” 

“I don’t- I didn’t-”

Then Hilda’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh! Don’t tell me you’ve got a crush!” 

Marianne’s face flushed crimson and warm. “N-no! Of course not!” She sputtered in protest. 

“Suure.” Hilda said with a wink. 

She then looked over Hilda’s shoulder and her grin faded to a scowl. She stood, patted Marianne on the shoulder, and began to leave. 

“See you later Mari!” 

Marianne turned to call out after her, and froze at the sight that turned away Hilda. Just past the doorway to the lecture hall, leaning against a column, stood Leonie. She had actually worn her uniform jacket that day, buttoned up to her chin. It gave her an oddly formal look. Knightly, even. 

Marianne stood slowly from her desk, collecting her unfortunately unmarked parchment and pen and clutched them to her chest. As she walked out of the hall, Leonie looked up at her and gave a lopsided smile. 

She knew she should run from this. This was the test she feared, the temptation. The Goddess had made her path clear, to keep them both safe, and every step she took closer put them both in danger. 

Yet how could she resist that silly grin? Those tangerine eyes holding an earnest charm within. Could she be blamed for falling short of sainthood, when sin wore a face like that? 

She stepped forward regardless, just to the threshold of the lecture hall. Neither girl spoke at first, and Marianne wished to preserve that. She knew what Leonie would say, and she didn’t want to hear it. Let her pretend that this hadn’t happened, just a little longer. 

Leonie spoke anyway though, and Marianne couldn’t bring herself to complain about that either. “Hey Marianne.” 

Her voice was a little quieter, a little less steady than what she was used to. Coming from anyone else she’d call it nervousness, but that emotion wasn’t one that she could easily see coming from Leonie. 

“Hi.” Was all she herself could muster in response. If Leonie’s voice was a touch unsteady, then hers was quaking. 

“So, I joined By- Professor Eisner’s class.” Leonie said. She was attempting to make it sound casual, inconsequential. Perhaps to her it was, though it very well may have saved her life. 

“That’s good,” Marianne said, hoping her eyes didn’t give away her previous knowledge. “You must be glad to study under her.” 

Leonie nodded. “Yeah, no offense to Miss Cassagranda, but Professor Eisner is something else.” 

There was another pause. Words floundered in the air between them, unspoken. Leonie placed a hand at the back of her neck and looked off to the side, toward the Black Eagle’s hall. 

“We’ve got a mission coming up too, a big one. The Eagles keep busy, I guess.” 

“Oh?” 

“Yeah, we’re um, actually I don’t think I’m supposed to say where we’re going but,” Leonie sighed, her hands fiddling with the buttons of her jacket. “I just thought you should know, so I don’t just disappear on you.” 

Marianne felt her cheeks grow warm. She wasn’t worth the consideration Leonie gave her, as sweet as it was. She shook her head. “You have your duty, I understand.” 

Leonie finally looked at her again, an odd look flashing across her eyes. Marianne tried to look back, to decipher it, but she couldn’t hold that gaze, and it was gone as soon as it came. 

“You know,” Leonie said, in a voice bordering on a whisper. “I’m not exactly moving to Almyra so, you know, we can still see each other.” 

She winced at her own words, but Marianne couldn’t help but smile, even if it was more wistful than happy. 

“I…” Marianne’s tongue felt heavy in her mouth, “I’m sure we will.” 

She felt cold as soon as she said those words. She hated lying to her but Goddess willing, it would save her. She had to keep telling herself that, until it truly stuck and it’s echoes drowned out the voice of her temptations. 

The chill worsened as Leonie nodded along. “Yeah, of course.” 

She jerked a thumb over her shoulder, murmuring something about training, and walked off. Marianne watched her go, probably for longer than she should have. As soon as she was out of sight she breathed a sigh of relief. She’d done it, now all there was to stick to it. To stay far away from Leonie Pinelli. 

***

Over the next several days, Marianne threw herself at just about every task that came her way. Every extraneous lesson, every undone chore, anything to keep her occupied and more importantly, away from Leonie. , and abruptly walked in the other direction. Once or twice she even hid outright to stay out of her view. 

It felt like pulling teeth, and every time she saw persimmon hair the beast demanded she follow after. It raged and clawed at its cage beneath her ribs, but she kept it starved. 

It did help that the Black Eagles truly were busy. On the occasion that the Golden Deer were nearby, Marianne always spared a glance to find them either deeply focused in their lectures or drilled in training. Professor Eisner’s reputation preceded; she looked on without emotion, constantly driving her class to work hard. Marianne might’ve then been concerned, were it not from the rumors that trickled down about their mission. 

They spoke of chaos in the north, of bandits more vicious than Faerghus had seen since the death of their king. They spoke of entire villages put to the torch and hundreds of civilians to the sword, and all of Gautier living in fear of these marauders. 

The Deer’s mission lay in a simple job guarding an estate, and the Blue Lions had already returned from their own bandit clearing job, so these particular brigands must fall to the Eagles. 

It drove Marianne to spend more and more nights in the Cathedral, praying she’d left Leonie alone soon enough. That no vestiges of her curse were somehow stuck to her. Then after such evenings were the dreams. 

Of the Black Eagles returning bloodied and bruised, members missing. Of Leonie returning mangled, run through, slashed apart, or any such injury her mind could conjure. The worst were of pure quiet, days and days of it. Followed by a battered courier delivering the worst of news, that they’d all gone to the Goddess in the most wretched parts of the north. 

That Leonie would be ripped from her life, leaving Marianne a stubborn weed that just couldn’t be taken from the soil. She woke in a cold sweat those nights, and spent more and more of her days in her room. 

By the time the day of the mission itself had come, Marianne felt as if the apocalypse itself had come to Garreg Mach. Her mind had since lost the ability to determine between her own irrationality and the instincts that she should actually be following, leading fear to take the reins. 

That morning was typical of the week: groggy and miserable after an evening of prayer and a night of dread. Every step she took felt herculean, but she couldn’t help herself from one simple indulgence. Instead of heading straight for the lecture hall, or some other errand to keep herself busy, she made her way to the gates. 

She kept a safe distance, but came close enough to see the eagles preparing to leave. They were a motley band, in some respects, but in others they were grand. Like a company of heroes of legend. All were adorned in full regalia of combat, bearing true weapons, not the clumsy tools of training. It was like the pages of a storybook come to life, if not for the horrible implications that all of it carried. 

Then her eyes found Leonie. She was talking with Caspar while standing beside her horse, Surrey. All three were armored, and covered head to toe in the Adrestian red and black. Leonie’s armor was lighter, given that she was carrying a lance as well as her bow, only a few pieces of plate over a thick gambeson. 

Marianne found herself caught between wishing that she was in any other situation, that she could tuck her away and keep her from their fight, and admiring how easily she fit in as a warrior. She was in her element, handsome as a knight (and plenty moreso than some of her comrades). 

The thought lingered a little too long, and Marianne shook her head to clear it. She ought not to ogle so much, it was unbecoming, and she was already in a risky spot as it was. She was about to turn away when she heard someone come up behind her, and whirled around to find Mercedes looking on. 

“Hello there, Marianne.” She said. Her words were warm and accompanied with a smile, though they still struck her with a pang of shame. 

“Oh! Hello to you too, Mercedes.” She said, bowing her head. 

“Are you here to see the Eagles off as well?” She asked. 

“No I-” Marianne bit her lip, searching for some excuse. “I was just passing by.” 

Mercedes giggled, “Well then let’s pass by together, shall we?” 

She offered a hand to Marianne, who was by then, panicking. 

“I shouldn’t, it’ll bring them bad luck.” 

“Nonsense. If anything we ought to give them some motivation to come back safe and sound.” She said, with a wink that caught Marianne completely off guard. 

A furious blush rose to her face, and before she could protest, Mercedes walked on and called out to Professor Eisner. The woman was on horseback, surveying her class, but dismounted as she saw Mercedes approach. The two exchanged a few words, and Marianne swore she even saw a little smile bloom across the Professors face once.

Then Mercedes pulled the other woman into an embrace. The Professor looked surprised at first, before holding her back, tight. It gave Marianne an odd feeling in her gut. Somehow both bitterly cold and uncomfortably warm all at once. 

The two women separated, saying something else that Marianne couldn’t hear. Leonie approached the Professor, threw an arm around her shoulder and said something that made Mercedes laugh and Eisner blush crimson. 

It was then that Leonie made eye contact with Marianne, who froze. They both stood still, unsure what to do, before Leonie grinned and waved. Marianne remained unmoving for a moment, and then raised her own hand and waved back. If Leonie looked like a storybook hero, then in that moment she felt like a storybook damsel to compliment. It was a feeling she was unaccustomed to, and it filled her with strange thoughts. Strongest among them was to do what Mercedes had done, to rush over and embrace her warrior before she left. 

She shook off the thought. This was the monster talking, nothing more. What right did she have to call Leonie _hers_ anyway? That sounded like something… lovers… would say. It was beyond improper, bordering on outright sin. 

She was about to turn to leave, when Mercedes came walking back, her cheeks rosier than they had been before, and a half smile on her face. 

“Why didn’t you come up and say hell?” She asked. 

Marianne gave a noncommittal shrug. There wasn’t an answer she could give that wouldn’t sound odd. Still, Mercedes the way looked at her suggested some sort of understanding, even if she couldn’t possibly know the whole truth. 

“I think I see. It is quite hard to see them go, after all.” She said, and sighed deeply. 

Marianne nodded. “It is, I pray they’ll all be safe.” 

“I add my prayers to yours,” Mercedes said. “And find yourself missing that errant cavalier of yours, I’m always available to commiserate.” 

Again Mercedes’ words made her blush. Where on earth was she getting these ideas from? Not that she wouldn’t miss Leonie, she already did in fact, but the way she said it with so much implication… 

“I’ll um-” She sputtered, “I’ll keep that in mind, thank you.” 

Then she turned on her heel and marched off, desperately trying to keep thoughts of orange haired knights out of her head. 

***

In comparison to the flurry of work she buried herself in before the Black Eagles left, the following few days felt completely stagnant. She found herself unable to focus in class, and incapable of finishing much of anything outside of it. Worry wormed its way into every crevice of her mind, even tainting the serenity of her prayers. 

She asked no questions, but constantly put herself in the orbit of all the right people to try and hear any gossip. To no avail though, even Claude seemed to be in the dark on what was truly happening in Faerghus. Hilda on the other hand, seemed more in the mind to try and cheer her up, inviting her for tea and staying by her during their meals. 

Marianne still tried to stay away from these efforts too. After all, why remove herself from Leonie just to become a danger to Hilda. Mercedes too tried to reach out, and that Marianne found more difficult to evade despite her efforts. 

At least on the occasions where she couldn’t escape either one of them, they did quite a job of keeping her mind away from the Eagles. Though Mercedes did prod her once or twice on her friendship with Leonie, for reasons beyond Marianne. Hilda too asked after Leonie, although that could be explained much easier with protective suspicion. 

It’s after one such day of these questions and semi-welcome distractions that she ended up on the bridge to the Cathedral, stopping to admire the landscape before beginning her nightly prayers. Anxiety swirled in her like an clouds threatening to storm, but the tempest of panic stayed contained. 

She breathed in the cool night air, savoring the dregs of summer warmth mixed in. Her hands rested on the stonework, and she looked on to the Oghma beyond. 

Then, from the other side of the Monastery, she heard the telltale thunder of hooves in the distance. They are followed by the creaking metal of the main gate, and before she could think, Marianne began sprinting back across the bridge. Just as she made it across, two figures on horseback came into view, brazenly charging right through the campus. 

As they came closer, she identified Professor Eisner and Ferdinand as the riders, though both had an additional person behind them. She squinted, and made out Linhardt on one, and, to her horror, a limp Leonie behind the Professor. 

They flew past her before she could even cry out, right to the stairs, where they dismounted. Ferdinand and Professor Eisner gingerly brought Leonie down, while Linhardt jumped to her side with his hands already glowing with magic. They had taken off her armor, leaving her only in a thin loose tunic, soaked through with blood. 

Marianne stood frozen with shock, and had barely registered to rush over before two knights had come down the stairs with a stretcher and taken Leonie back up with them. Only then did she break out into a run to the base of the stairs. 

Right as she did so, the Professor turned and stopped her with a hand to her shoulder. She tried to shrug it off and push past but her grip was strong. 

“Please! I need to see her!” She begged, feeling tears start to well up. “I’m a healer, please let me through!”

Professor Eisner’s face remained stony, inscrutable. She said nothing, though looked to be thinking for an agonizing moment. Then she released her, and Marianne wasted no time in running past her and up the stairs. 

She rounded the corner at the top so hard she almost tripped on her skirts and collapsed, but pressed on to the infirmary. There, both Linhardt and Manuela loomed over Leonie. The girl still wasn’t moving, and there was so much red. 

A sob escaped Marianne at the sight, turning Professor Cassagranda’s attention to her. She gave her a pitying expression, and gestured her over. 

“Look dear, it’s not as bad as you’d think.” She pointed to Leonie’s chest. They’d removed her tunic, revealing an angry looking wound right beneath her breast. It was still awful to see, but clearly not life threatening, already being pulled together. 

“Glanced off her ribs, just bled like hell.” Linhardt said. He sounded exhausted, far beyond his usual fatigue. 

“Take a breather dear, you’ve had a long journey. Miss Edmund and myself will-” Before Manuela could even finish, Linhardt practically fell into one of the empty beds, asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. 

Despite- or perhaps because of the circumstances, Marianne giggled at the sight. It died as soon as she turned back to Leonie, but her mood was no longer one of abject terror. 

Instead, she directed all that nervous energy, and all of the prayers she’d given over the last few days into the warm pool of magic that rested deep within her. She felt the pull, and then the flow of energy through body and into her hands. Green light spilled across her fingers and showered onto Leonie’s wound. 

Manuela joined in herself, with much more calculated sparks of power. The magic twisted and wound around the edges of torn flesh, knitting them back together. Blood churned and then clotted, scabs formed and then peeled off to reveal new tissue beneath. After what felt like hours, they were finally rewarded with pink, inflamed but mostly healed skin. 

Professor Cassagranda gave a great sigh and sat on the bed beside her patient’s. “Well done Miss Edmund, very well done.” 

Marianne flushed, “Thank you, Professor.” 

They both allowed themselves to relax for a moment, keenly feeling the drain the magic had on them. After a spell, Professor Cassagranda rose and began the task of bandaging her patient. Marianne hopped to as well, carefully propping Leonie for the healer. 

It was only then that her mind began to process that her classmate was bare from the waist up. She immediately averted her eyes at the realization, but couldn’t take her hands away. Even in Leonie’s injured and inert state, Marianne could still feel the muscle in her shoulders. 

It was wrong of her, but Marianne couldn’t stop herself from looking just a little closer. The girl was an accomplished archer, and the fruits of her training were written up and down her wiry arms. She’d seen statues less sculpted.

She’d call her pretty, if the word made any sense applied to a girl like Leonie. Handsome seemed the next most obvious, but it didn’t feel quite enough either. Dashing perhaps? No, not quite. There simply weren’t words that fit her, only approximations of ideas. 

Marianne had started trying to make up a new word altogether by the time Professor Cassagranda finished her bandaging, and they both lowered Leonie back onto the bed. 

The professor then rummaged around and produced a worn shirt that she pulled over Leonie with some help from Marianne. Satisfied with her work, the older woman yawned and turned to her student. 

“Alright dear, thank you for your help but you ought to be off to bed.” She said. 

Marianne looked between her and Leonie for a moment, before speaking with a confidence that she did not feel. “If it’s okay with you ma’am, I’d much rather look after her for the night.” 

Professor Cassagranda looked like she was about to refuse, but after glancing at Marianne for a second, her expression softened. 

“Oh, alright then. Come fetch me right away if you need anything, and I’ll be checking in first thing in the morning.” She said with a sigh. 

She walked over to Linhardt, prodded him until he awoke, and then dragged him out of the infirmary with her, leaving Marianne alone with Leonie. She heard a few whispers just outside, and then total silence save for their footsteps growing quieter and quieter. 

As soon as those faded, she kneeled before the bed Leonie occupied and took the girls hand in both of her own. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and began to pray. 

“Holy Saint Cethleann, keeper of virtuous love, healer of body and spirit, I beg of you as your humble servant. I beg of you, bless the injured before me, mend their wounds and soothe their agonies. Bless them with safety in their future, that they may not need your aid again.” 

She exhaled a held breath as soon as her prayer finished, somewhere between exhaustion and relief. It had sapped her energy as surely as the magic had, and blackness threatened to grow at the edges of her vision. 

Leonie’s hand was warm in hers, and had now curled its fingers around one of her hands. She replaced it on the bed, and was in the process of withdrawing from it when she heard a small moan from its owner. 

Marianne gasped and looked up, but was disappointed to see her patient still asleep, though her grip grew tighter despite this. It was enough to keep her rooted to the spot, watching the rise and fall of Leonie’s chest. Her breaths were a little labored, and they’d likely hurt when she awoke, but she’d be alright.

Part of her was possessed then by a desire to place her head there, right over Leonie’s heart. She resisted, but still laid her chin on the bed, blinking back sleep as long as she could. She hardly noticed herself nudging closer as she slipped into sleep. 

She dreamt of tangerine haired knights untarnished by blood, undefeated by monsters, carrying Periwinkle damsels off into the sunset. There were no specters hiding in the corners, no memories creeping in, only the peace of the scene, and the warmth of a hand on her cheek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this chapter was not supposed to be this long but it felt wrong to split it. Anyway we'll be sticking with Marianne's pov for a bit so get ready for a lot of religious guilt :(


	8. Paranoia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marianne's fears made manifest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for some rather direct suicidal ideation at the very end of the chapter.

Awareness returned to Marianne in waves, swells of reality crashing against her consciousness as it stumbled into the waking world. The first of these came in the form of an awful ache in her neck, likely from the gnarled position she’d fallen asleep in. The second was that she was still wearing her school uniform, and had passed out kneeling on the floor next to a bed. The third was that in that bed was someone whose lap she had practically placed her head in, and that person was Leonie Pinelli. 

Memories of the night prior slipped into place like a knife in between ribs, and Marianne sprang upright, nearly falling into the bed behind her as she did so. Leonie was thankfully still asleep, and looking far less pallid than she had when they’d brought her into the infirmary. 

She shouldn’t have done this. She was happy to heal her, but she shouldn’t have stayed. Given her luck she might have doomed Leonie just by spending so long in her presence. 

Goddess above why did she have to be so foolish? So _selfish_? The beast in her breast growled in content at her folly, and why shouldn’t it? She’d given in and fed it. 

She turned and walked away from the bed, but before she made it to the door, she chanced a look over her shoulder. At Leonie’s messy ginger hair sticking up in every direction, at the look of peace on her face, so different from the pained one she’d had as they’d healed her. 

Marianne sighed, and left the infirmary. Professor Cassagranda would be back soon, and by then she’d better be as far from Leonie as she could be. The sun hadn’t yet risen either, so she could probably make it back to her room under the cover of the dim light of dawn. 

She was in the midst of plotting her escape when she crashed straight into what felt like a solid wall in the middle of the hallway. She stumbled back and nearly fell, only to have a strong hand catch her and pull her back upright.

After a dazed second, she took in the sight of Professor Eisner before her. She quickly scurried out of her touch and mumbled a quiet “I’m sorry ma’am.” 

The Professor raised an eyebrow, “It’s fine.” 

Then, with a stonier expression, “How’s Leonie?” 

“She’s um…” _Possibly cursed because of me,_ “She’s alright, she should take it easy for a couple days but her wound is healing quite well.” 

Professor Eisner closed her eyes and exhaled deeply. Tension flew out of her shoulders and neck, and for a breath Marianne thought she might collapse on the spot. When she opened her eyes, the dark bags under then became more pronounced. Between them and her tousled hair, the woman looked absolutely exhausted. 

“That’s good.” She said, “Thank you.” 

Marianne shook her head, “Oh no, please don’t thank me. It was mostly Professor Cassagranda I-” 

“I’ll thank her too then.” The Professor cut her off. 

Then, without another word, she walked past Marianne and into the infirmary. She took this as her cue, and made for the stairs, taking them two at a time. Then she ran, until she was safe in her room, and waited for calamity to befall her. 

***

Only days into the Horsebow Moon, the whispers started. They chilled the Monastery as surely as the burgeoning autumn air, speaking of Death itself stalking both it and the town at its mouth. They spoke of a rider in black, bearing a scythe, and of disappearances that followed its presence. 

Some dismissed this as pure commoner’s gossip and others pointed fingers at the Western Church. Regardless of their belief in the nature or veracity of the specter, everyone talked. The Knights in particular seemed on edge, always clustered and with a hand on their weapons. 

Marianne tried to escape the fear choked atmosphere in her studies and prayer, but the penitents of the Cathedral had always murmured their minds, and the speculation of Claude and Hilda seemed unceasing in the face of such a mystery. This too, worsened as the Golden Deer were racked with a new drama in the sudden departure of Lysithea from their class. 

Apparently Professor Eisner, uncontented with snatching Leonie away, pinched their best mage as well. This left Marianne with the task of learning black magic to compensate. Between her new tomes and her commitment to prayer, any spare time to breathe quickly became a luxury. Days passed in a blur tied together only with anxiety and fatigue. 

It was almost a relief then, when Professor Manuela announced their mission that month. They were to travel south, to a village near Varley, and eliminate a camp of bandits that had evaded local authorities. It was straightforward, or perhaps would have been without the two gaping holes in their ranks. Ordinarily they would’ve solved that by asking to borrow a student from another house or one of the knights, but circumstances had stretched the manpower of the Monastery far too thin. 

Some were reluctant to let the Deer go at all, but Lorenz insisted on continuing their duties. This left him and Claude to scramble to hire mercenaries to replace Lysithea and Leonie, and they’d only just secured a mage and an archer in time for their departure. 

On that day, Marianne sat atop Dorte in her healer’s robes, surveying her ragtag band of classmates assembled like soldiers. It was an unpleasantly warm morning, unexpectedly groggy for what was then Autumn proper. 

Claude and Lorenz were both by their mounts at the front, one on a wyvern and the other on a purebred horse, bickering as usual. Raphael was attempting to encourage a clearly nervous Ignatz, both looking rather out of place in their respective uniforms. The two mercenaries were paired off some distance from the others.

The archer was a rather small, stocky woman by the name of Shirin. She had a thick Almyran accent on the rare occasion that she spoke, and reminded her somewhat of Professor Eisner in her manner. The mage was an Albinean by the name of Penda, pale as death and rugged looking, with braided blonde hair and a long beard to match. Most of the class seemed content to leave them be. 

That only left one member who hadn’t yet shown. Where was-?

“Hey Mari!” Hilda’s sudden call made her jump hard enough to almost fall out of her saddle. 

Marianne giggled to herself as she dismounted and turned to her companion, “Hello to you too, Hilda.” 

Though the rest of her classmates looked odd in their battlefield wear, Hilda looked positively bizarre in hers. She had donned a full suit of heavy armor and carried a two handed axe as if it were as light as a training sword. Even her hair had changed from it’s usual carefully styled state to a strict bun at the base of her neck, to accommodate the helmet she carried under her arm. 

It was so easy to forget, perhaps intentionally so, that Hilda was as strong as Raphael, Dedue, or even Edelgard. It was stranger still to see her using that strength, despite all her protestations to work and declarations of her own laziness. She fit her armor well, as much a warrior as their mercenaries. 

“How are you feeling?” She asked. 

“Just fine, thank you.” Marianne replied, almost automatically. Such questions simply couldn’t have honest answers. 

“Got enough sleep?” 

“I did, yes.” Marianne said, and then added with a smile, “I suppose I don’t have to ask if you slept enough.” 

Hilda grinned and gave her a wink, “Nope! Slept like a baby and I’m probably gonna sleep again on the way!” 

“As long as you're wide awake when we arrive.” It was a jab, but one without any bite. As much as Hilda slacked off at the Monastery she dominated the battlefield. 

“Pssh, don’t worry your pretty little head about it,” Hilda said, nudging her with her shoulder. “I’ll keep the bad guys far away from you, that’s a promise.” 

Marianne couldn’t help the smile on her lips nor the flush in her cheeks. Hilda’s upbeat demeanor was chamomile on frayed nerves. Not quite erasing her anxieties, but dulling them just enough. 

Then came a gust of wind from the front of their congregation, as Claude took to the air atop his wyvern. He struck a regal figure there, unlike the Adrestian baroque or the Faerghian gothic, or even the typical Leicester fusions of the two. 

“Alright everyone!” His voice glided easily over the din of the assemblage as he spoke. “We’re heading into Adrestian territory, and I don’t anticipate we’ll be attacked on the road, but stay vigilant just in case. 

We’ll march until around nightfall if all goes well, and strike the enemy at dawn. I’ll inform each of you of your roles as soon as we make camp.” 

With that, he soared above them and up onto the gatehouse, and the class stirred into motion. Marianne, Ignatz, Lorenz, and the mercenaries all mounted their steeds, while Raphael and Hilda piled into a covered wagon at the center of their formation. 

As they slowly began to move forward, Marianne looked up at their house leader, and spied three figures beside him on the battlements. Two were instantly recognizable, with two heads of bone-white hair. Edelgard and Lysithea were both exchanging words with Claude about something or other, and another woman stood silently beside them. 

Marianne squinted, and then felt her cheeks warm up when her eyes confirmed her suspicion. Leonie was dressed in an archers garb, clearly on some sort of guard duty. She couldn’t help but wonder if her former classmate had perhaps planned to be there at this time, but either way, despite everything, it felt like a good omen. 

She waved up to her, and smiled wide when Leonie turned and ran to the edge of the balcony to wave back. Even from the ground she could see the goofy grin on her face. She’d take that over a phoenix crossing their path any day. 

***

The Golden Deer made camp later than they’d intended that evening. While they hadn’t been accosted on the road, the woods around them had rustled and whispered almost as soon as they’d crossed into Varley territory. Most dismissed it as wolves, more a nuisance than a threat given their training, but something about it sent Marianne into a state just simmering below panic. 

Every glimmer of light in the dark became beady inhuman eyes or jagged flashes of teeth. Every rustled leaf and crushed branch became the work of monsters beyond the reach of the Goddess. 

She avoided the gathering of her classmates around the fire while they ate, listening to Shirin tell some old war story. A few words drifted her way, and it sounded entertaining enough, but it was all Marianne could do to simply keep her food down under the circumstances. 

Hilda attempted to wave her over more than once, but she declined as politely as she could each time. Instead she kept her eyes on the woods, as much as she could. Only when Claude called to her to discuss tactics did she respond, and then solely out of duty. 

He had her, per usual, at the rear of their formation. A healer ready to receive the wounded and provide long range magical fire when necessary. So far, in all their missions, the latter had never been needed. Thankfully. 

He did stipulate that her black magic training might come in use should things go south, but other than that her role was as simple as it had been. She was dismissed with the only semblance of comfort she could hold onto for the next day. She slept with a hand on her shortsword that night, the other sparking with magic. 

In the morning the Deer rose with an uncharacteristic silence. There was no banter to be had and no jokes to be told before a day of killing. They left the cart and their horses behind as they proceeded into the woods that separated their camp from that of the bandits. 

It could only have been a walk of an hour or so, but it felt like years between the twisted trees. Daylight had done little to assuage Marianne’s fear, and the threat of bloodshed to come only threw her senses into overdrive. 

Worse still, this anxiety seemed infectious. At every glance she took into the deeper parts of the forest, the eyes of Ignatz to her right and Shirin to her left followed. Then finally Lorenz, at the front, looked up and signalled for them to stop. Claude stayed somewhere far above the treetops, scouting ahead, and all of the class waited for his call. 

The faint campfires of the bandit’s camp were visible from their position, and if they were unlucky, soon they would be too. Lorenz crouched low, and the class as a whole followed, save for Raphael and Hilda, who took cover behind trees. Ignatz and Shirin knocked arrows to their bows, and took aim at a pair of bandit’s taking watch. 

Even from her poor vantage at the back, Marianne thought the camp looked oddly sparse. They had heard of a bloodthirsty gang of at least twenty men, and yet she could only see ten from her current position. 

Were the others out? Hiding? Had they been responsible for the din of the forest the previous night? 

Before she could wonder more, Lorenz gestured for the archers to move up. They paced right up to the treeline, their arrowheads almost poking out of the greenery. Then another gesture, and they fired. 

Each arrow hit its target, one to the neck and the other to the chest, and dropped both of the camp guards. As soon as they hit the ground, one of their weapons clattered loud enough to attract another bandit, who yelled at the sight of the bodies. 

All hell broke loose after that. Lorenz abandoned his silent commands and his classmates charged. Hilda and Raphael rushed out first, covered by the archers and mages. In a flash the air came apart under the strain of spells crackling through it, like a storm had descended right on top of them. 

Thunder cracked in the form of metal on metal, joining by screams as bandits burned in magical fire. Hilda’s axe decapitated one marauder, and right by her side Raphael’s gauntlets caved in the chest of another. The brigands attempted to form a defensive line, but Claude’s arrows scattered their position. 

Ignatz and Shirin hardly had to fire, with no targets worth the arrows. Marianne’s hand stayed outstretched with healing magic pooled in her palm, but the resistance was far too disorganized by their ambush to even land hits on their fighters. 

In mere minutes, the inhabitants of the camp lay dead in the grass, their blood slowly soaking into the soil. Claude landed by their fire, and dismounted his wyvern. The rest of the Deer filtered out of the trees along with their mercenaries. 

Marianne then rushed to each of her classmates, giving them a once over to check for injuries, one hand a green glow just in case. Hilda and Raphael in particular made her wince, as the two were drenched in blood. 

“None of it’s mine.” Hilda said upon seeing her face. She held a cocky grin, but the adrenaline crash was apparent in her eyes and the slight rasp to her voice. 

Regardless, none of them were harmed. Marianne then nodded to Claude, who grinned back, before speaking to the class as a whole. 

“Pair off,” He said, and drew the sword at his belt. “Search the tents.”

Hilda immediately stepped up to Marianne and gave her a wink. In response she only rolled her eyes with a half smile, and reluctantly unsheathed her shortsword. They moved to each side of the entrance to one of the bandits’ flimsy tents. Hilda grabbed a handful of the fabric and looked to Marianne. She nodded, and her companion threw open the flap. 

Weapons were pointed and fire crackled in Marianne’s palm as they inspected what was an empty tent. They both sighed, both in relief and the broader lack of it. Then the two jumped in near unison as Claude called out to them. 

“Marianne! Need you over here!” 

He was standing with Lorenz at the entrance to the largest tent. At first sight one would presume it was the abode of the gangs leader, but as soon Marianne stepped up to see inside, that notion was dashed. Perhaps it had been some statement of status at some point, but now the wounded and dying lay between the shoddy cloth. 

“No wonder they capitulated with so little effort.” Lorenz mused, “This must be a third of their force.” 

“That’s still five missing, unless we’re to assume that whatever did this,” Claude motioned to the wounded, “Got them too.” 

“That would seem to be a fair assessment.” Lorenz said, with a nod. “What say you, Lady Edmund?” 

He looked over to her, expectant, but Marianne was instead transfixed. The world around her had fallen away, replaced by crimson. The wounds each man sported were jagged, their flesh mangled in a way that even crude weapons wouldn’t accomplish. Some had limbs torn from them, and were barely clinging to life, others had marks of claws, and teeth. 

They were too big for wolves, or bears even. There was only one sort of beast that made injuries like these, injuries so very familiar to Marianne. She felt her spine grow frigid, and her gut viscerally protest, and turned away from her classmates in a hurry. 

She dropped down by the outside of the makeshift medical tent, and vomited the meager contents of her stomach until all she could do was wretch and sob. A metal gauntlet settled on her back and she nearly fell flinching away, only to look up and see the concerned fuchsia of Hilda looking down on her. 

In her place, Shirin stepped up and peered in at the injured, then turned and whispered something to Claude. His face drained of all color, and he mounted his wyvern, a command springing to his lips. 

“Form up Golden Deer!” He shouted. “Close quarters out, ranged in!” 

The class sprang into action, and Marianne found herself nearly thrown into the center of their ranks. There was a moment of tense quiet, before Raphael bellowed out, “What’re we looking for?” 

“Beasts, demonic beasts!” Claude yelled over the gusts of his wyvern’s wings. “If they’re out there, then there’s no way we haven’t just attracted them here!” 

Surrounded by bodies hot with adrenaline and rank with sweat, Marianne’s blood ran frigid. The forest around them was deathly quiet, save for a gentle wind shaking the leaves of the trees. 

Then the sound of branches cracking drew the whole of the class’s attention to the other side of the camp. Beyond there, the trees swayed unnaturally, against the wind. There was another hideous silence, before a growl came from the woods. 

Growl was the wrong word, but it was as close as a single word could get to what that sound truly was. It was a rumble from the earth’s core. It was quaking fear made manifest. It was the death rattle of whatever was the opposite of the Goddess. 

The greenery at the edge of the bandits’ camp parted, and the beast reared its head. It had a single red eye placed almost haphazardly in the middle of its head, above what could scarcely be called a mouth. It’s jaws split it deep into it’s long writing neck, revealing a set of jagged mismatched bone spurs that approximated teeth. It’s flesh was greyed black and looked sewn together across its bulging malformed musculature. Every piece of meat on the being looked as if it were ready to fall apart, and yet its feet fell terribly solid against the ground as it approached the class. 

The close quarters fighters pulled around and formed a line in front of the ranged, and the archers knocked and aimed their bows. Beside Marianne, the mercenary mage gathered a bubbling mass of dark magic in his hands. She tried to rouse her own power in kind, but the flame she conjured stayed weak and sputtering. 

For a breath neither the students nor the monster took any action, as if waiting for the other to make the first step. It looked at them, and its sickly crimson eye seemed almost curious. It lingered on Marianne for a moment, and she swore she saw it grin. 

An arrow loosed, not from the archers on the ground but from Claude on his wyvern, and should have struck the beast right in that foul eye. Instead a light flashed right above its skin and the arrow bounced off harmlessly. The air felt like it dropped a few degrees then. 

The beast roared at Claude, rushed forward, and stood on its hind legs to swipe at his mount. He only just evaded it, pulling his wyvern higher up. From that height, he yelled down to his classmates, “Charge!” 

The archers shot first, one arrow trying to enter its maw, and another striking at the joint of one of its front legs. Then the mages fired, with the Albinean launching a stream of energy that landed just above the beast, sizzling on empty air. Marianne’s jet of fire came out limp and useless, only glancing off the monsters neck. 

The first to strike at it directly was Raphael, whose gauntlet crashed again and again against whatever shielded it from magic and arrows. Then Hilda, who brought her axe down hard on one of its claws. It too initially glanced off, but managed to nick it's flesh as it did. 

Enraged, the beast swatted Hilda and Raphael to the side as easily as one swatted a fly, and ran toward the ranged line. Marianne and the archers dived aside in time, but the albinean mage was less lucky. He screamed as the monster seized him in one claw, and went silent as its jaws clamped down on his torso. It thrashed violently and tossed what was left of the mage into the treeline. 

Then it turned to Marianne and the remaining archers. She scrambled to get away from her nightmare incarnate, but it was advancing faster. It was nearly upon them when Claude swooped down on his mount, his wyvern latching onto the beast and biting into its neck. 

Claude himself leaped off and onto the demon, drawing his sword and slashing at any part of the beast he could reach. As his blows continued, the strange shield above its skin seemed to crack and finally shatter in places, allowing his blade to meet flesh. 

The beast howled at this and shook itself. The wyvern withdrew onto the ground but Claude was launched into one of the abandoned tents. Faintly, as if somewhere in the distance, Marianne heard Lorenz scream. 

It turned, and was about to run down the still dazed Raphael and Hilda, when Marianne felt a surge of magic run through her. She aimed her hand at the beast, and shards of ice sprang from her and lodged themselves in the beasts neck. It shrieked and turned on her, but that gave Ignatz enough time to loose an arrow that sailed right past its shield and finally into its eye. 

Taking the opportunity as the monster flailed in agony, Lorenz thrust his spear through its neck. The head broke through the flesh of the other end, and rivulets of blood poured from its mouth. At last, it crashed to the earth, dead. 

Lorenz pulled his lance free, and immediately ran to Claude’s side, helping their class leader onto his feet. A trickle of blood ran down the side of his temple, and his movements were slow and shaken, but he was otherwise unharmed. 

The rest of the Deer were in similar shape. Raphael had bruises all over him and Hilda sported a limp, but neither of their conditions were ones Marianne needed to rush to amend. As for their mercenaries, Shirin was shaken and there was nothing to be done for Penda. 

Without any true demand for her healing, Marianne’s adrenaline ran dry. She stared at the fallen beast, expecting it to stir, to wake and tear them all to pieces. She hardly noticed the edges of her vision blurring and going dark, until they’d consumed her sight and she fell into the frozen dark. 

***

Marianne hadn’t passed out, not truly. She was vaguely aware of the next several hours, of collapsing on the ground, of her classmates frantic response. She was picked up by someone as they left the camp, probably Hilda, but she couldn’t remember. 

They arrived some time later, somber and quiet. Or at least they had seemed to be, perhaps Marianne had been unable to hear them. At some point someone tried to get her to eat, Claude maybe? Then Hilda sat by her in her tent for a while. 

Time flowed at varying speeds for her. In some moments, Marianne felt trapped in languid seconds that refused to pass. In others, the day passed her completely, and the sky darkened without giving her any warning. Her classmates seemed to mill about aimlessly throughout their camp, buzzing around like dazed insects. 

Marianne’s senses only started to return to her after the sun had fled the sky, and by then the predominant feeling was exhaustion. Two full days of screaming nerves had burnt out her ability to even stay afraid anymore. The bedroll beneath had broken through the call of fear, and sleep pulled her in easily, with no energy to protest on her part. 

***

The mood of the camp stayed unchanged by the next morning. Silence passed through her classmates like an illness, binding their tongues to only the most utilitarian of phrases. Even Hilda only greeted Marianne with a quick nod. 

This served her purposes just fine. No one even paid attention to her sequestering herself to the corners of the camp. Not a soul said a word about the prayers she uttered every other minute under her breath. The whole class was operating in something of a trance, actions automatic and stilted, so her own seemed so much less out of place. 

Packing brought some comfort, the relief of the promise of home. For Marianne, seeing Dorte helped, and being on horseback was better than standing on her own feet at that moment. 

The forest around them ignored their state, however. As the Golden Deer plodded down the road back to Garreg Mach, the whispers between the trees were unceasing. Everyone kept a hand on their weapon throughout the day, and they stopped for nothing. 

An audible sigh of relief sounded throughout the class when Garreg Mach came into view, the moon framing it in angelic light against the night sky. Their exhausted paces picked up with a sudden burst of energy, save for Marianne. 

She sat frozen atop Dorte and let her class pull ahead of her, none turning to look back as they did. To return to Garreg Mach after what she’d done felt sickeningly profane. Her mind offered image after image of what could happen if she did, of beasts like the one they’d seen that day scaling those holy walls, scouring the market town, defiling the Cathedral itself. 

She felt nauseous, and it took no small amount of willpower to stop herself from running off the road and emptying her stomach again. Perhaps it’d be best to do so. To run aside, expel as much as she could until whatever foul thing existed in her was expelled. To cough up blood until her cursed veins ran dry. 

That would mean leaving Dorte out to the wilds, though, and that she couldn’t do. It felt like an excuse to follow the comfort of routine, avoiding the consequences the Goddess ought to bring to her, but it was enough. Enough for her to take the reins in a clenched white grip and urge her steed forward. 

The next hour passed in a blur. They reached the gates and Claude said something to them, words of praise soured a voice that betrayed his fatigue. Those with mounts went to the stables, and then all stowed their weapons in the armory. Hardly anyone spoke. Marianne noticed Hilda looking at her, but neither could breach the silence. 

She left the group, who mostly returned to their rooms or ran to scavenge from the dining hall. Instead, she made her way to the Cathedral, eagerly waiting for its pristine maw to bite down and end the constant buzzing of her brain. 

She lingered on the bridge. For too long, she lingered. She always tried to walk faster on the stone. Not out of a fear of heights, though looking down into that great chasm would strike that phobia into anyone. She slowed and stilled, a hand on the stone wall that framed it, and contemplated. 

The Demonic Beast had come due to her crest, there was no other explanation. Her curse had endangered the entire class, and it was still endangering them now. This was punishment for her delusion that she could be close to any of them without consequence. The Goddess had branded her and she had defied her judgement.

She set her other hand against the wall of the bridge, and looked down into the yawning abyss below. Every instinct told her to step back, to run somewhere walled and safe, but her feet were rooted to the spot. Ice clawed up her spine and through her veins, and she could swore she felt a slight push at the small of her back. 

She took one step forward. Another. Another. Her boot hit the stone wall. It would be so easy to sling a leg over, two even, and- 

“Marianne!” A cheery voice called out from her right, startling her enough to make her stumble onto the stone. 

Rushing steps came to meet her, and gentle hands pulled her to her feet. 

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you!” Said Mercedes, now looking bashful. 

“Oh, you’re… Please, don’t worry.” Marianne replied, her words coming out scattered, her voice unused that day. 

“I didn’t think the Deer would be back yet.”

“We um,” She took a breath, trying to steady herself. “We just arrived.” 

There was a pause, and Mercedes’ expression shifted to one Marianne couldn’t quite identify. The older woman took a step forward, and it was hard not to flinch away. She took her hand in two of her own in one light movement, cradling hers with infinite gentleness. 

Marianne’s instinct was to rip herself out of that touch, to scream that she was unworthy, unsafe to be around, that she deserved none of this. Then to throw herself over the side of the bridge and let the Goddess finally take care of the rest. She didn’t move though, not an inch. 

She looked down at their hands, and up at Mercedes’ kind eyes, and noticed a frayed, tired look she hadn’t seen there before. 

“It was a hard one, wasn’t it?” She asked, her voice barely above a whisper. 

Marianne bit her lip, hard, to counteract the sting in her nose and eyes. She nodded. Then before she could think, Mercedes had pulled her into an embrace. Her face was buried in the woman’s shawl, with her hands on her shoulders as they began to shake from sobs she couldn’t hold back any longer. 

They stayed like that for a while, minutes stretched out and thoroughly inhabited. Then Mercedes pulled back, a hand on each of Marianne’s shoulders. 

“I think we should get you to bed, dear. You need the rest.” She said. 

Marianne looked from her to the Cathedral, “I should…”

Her voice trailed off, and Mercedes shook her head with a half smile. “The Goddess will be happy to hear your prayers in the morning. And they’ll be all the better when you’re rested.” 

With that, Mercedes led her from the bridge to her dorms. She hadn’t the energy to resist, nor the will, nor the want. She was spent, and for now the temporary oblivion of sleep just might satiate her. 

In such a state, her mind couldn’t even launch it’s onslaught of memory and fear spun myth, it could only yearn for the warmth of linen sheets after a long day. So she obliged it, and dreamt of blessed nothing.


End file.
